Legilimens
by Natasha-Von-Lecter
Summary: Once again, Hermione gets unexpected news from a late night chat with Albus and Severus. A/N: I had intended to write one long chapter to finish this off, but I decided to break things up and give you one last cliffie! Many thanks to my beta Jong Kahn
1. A Quandry

"They made another attempt on her life today."  
  
Dumbledore's face has taken on an uncharacteristic seriousness. I pinch the bridge of my nose, and squint. Damn this whole bloody mess straight to hell.   
  
"How is the girl"  
  
"She's a bit shaken, understandably, but she's unharmed. Fortunately, the Aurors arrived in time to assist her. Next time…I don't know, Severus."  
  
He looks even wearier than I imagine I do. War can be so tedious.   
  
"I've schooled her as best I can. We all have. We watch, and we wait."  
  
"Like we watched and waited with the Weasley lad?"  
  
I sigh and rub my temples.   
  
"She's a damn site more skilled than Mr. Weasley was, and you know it."  
  
"She's also more important to us."  
  
I try to keep the annoyance from my voice, but am less than successful.   
  
"Because of Potter."   
  
"She's got great potential in her own right. When the last battle comes, she'll be an invaluable asset in more ways than I can count."  
  
"Of course. She can be bait, she can be the delectable spoils of war, she can distract the Dark Lord with her feminine wiles."  
  
"Severus!"  
  
I give him a withering look, but he fails to wither. Perhaps I'm loosing my touch. Perhaps he just knows me well enough to understand that at times like these, Gallows humor is all I have left. I school my features to impassive resolve.  
  
"What would you have me do, Albus?"  
  
"She needs a full time protector."  
  
"Send Kingsley. He's quite the fancy lad. I'm certain she'd more than approve."  
  
"You're much more powerful than Kingsley."  
  
"She doesn't like me."  
  
"Nobody likes you. But, you're the one I trust, Severus."  
  
"Lucky me. What did you have in mind?"  
  
"A marriage contract. A living arraignment."  
  
I snort now. I think perhaps the old man has finally lost it. Poor sod..  
  
"It wouldn't work. No one would believe it for a moment, Albus, and you know it."  
  
"It doesn't matter what anyone believes. They'll know you're with her, and they'll know she's under your protection. The deterrent…"  
  
"Deterrent? Potter himself will probably sweep down to rescue her!"  
  
"I won't force you, Severus. If you don't think you're capable of putting your personal feelings aside for the cause, then perhaps…"  
  
"Damn you, Albus."  
  
He has the nerve to smile at me.   
  
"Thank you, Severus."  
  
"You wanted to see me, Sir?"  
  
Dumbledore turns from Fawkes' smoldering ashes to the doorway, where a certain bushy-haired former student is waiting.  
  
"Ah, Miss Granger. I trust you're feeling better."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
She touches her hand to the nasty scrape on her forehead. I draw my wand from my robes and wave it in her direction, muttering softly. She startles as the flesh knits cleanly, catching site of me in the corner.   
  
"Professor Snape, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there."   
  
She runs her fingertips over her now smooth brow.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
I nod in her direction.   
  
"Hermione, this is the third attempt on your life since you've been appointed to the staff her at Hogwart's".  
  
She sinks into a chair before Dumbledore's desk, clasping her hands tightly together, and lowering her eyes. She looks tense, but resolute.  
  
"Would it be best if I resigned, Professor Dumbledore? I don't want to endanger…"  
  
He cuts her off before she can finish.  
  
"I wouldn't dream of sending you away, dear girl. But I do have…concerns."  
  
"Of what nature?"  
  
"Safety."  
  
She bristles at this. So much pride. In the wrong hands, under the wrong influences, she could be so…dangerous."  
  
"I can assure you that I'd never let harm come to any of my students."  
  
"I was speaking of YOUR safety, Miss Granger."  
  
She quiets at this. And then suddenly she shifts in her seat and catches a glimpse of me. Like she's trying to put it all together. She doesn't know why I'm hear, and that disconcerts her.   
  
"As I think I've already proved, I'm quite able to take care of myself."  
  
"If the Aurors had arrived a few minutes later, there's no telling what might have happened last night. "  
  
She lowers her eyes and blushes with shame. Dumbledore's right, and she knows it.   
  
"Just what are you proposing, Professor?"  
  
Funny, that's the word she chooses  
  
"Well, I've given the matter a great deal of thought and…"  
  
I cannot abide silently any longer. "For Merlin's sake, she has a right to know. Quit leading the girl a pace and out with it!"  
  
My tone comes out overly sharp. Two pairs of eyes whip around to face me. Albus does not look amused.  
  
"Very well, Severus. Hermione, I'd like you to have a reliable, round the clock protector. You're of age now, and as such you're available for contract."  
  
"I'm not sure I follow you professor."  
  
"I think the wisest course of action would be for you to marry one of our operatives and share a domicile."  
  
She lets out a startled, nervous laugh.  
  
"You can't be serious!"  
  
"I'm afraid I am, Miss Granger. It would be a marriage in name only, of course. And when this war is finally over, the marriage would be easily annulled."  
  
The color has drained from her face, and she suddenly looks ill. I don't even need to look into her eyes to divine her thoughts.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Professor Snape is my most trusted Ally. He has agreed to my request, if you approve."  
  
She can't bring herself to turn and face me. She is shaking softly. Poor girl. How ugly this fate must look to her.  
  
"I need some time to think."  
  
"Of course."  
  
She rises from her chair stiffly, looking disoriented. She makes it across the room, but pauses at the doorway. Her back still turned to me, she peeks briefly over her shoulder. She manages to keep the waiver from her voice.  
  
"I appreciate your offer, Professor Snape. Perhaps we can continue this discussion when I've had time to collect my thoughts."  
  
I incline my head to her before she slips out into the hallway.  
  
"I told you she didn't like me, Albus."  
  
"I know, dear boy. No one does." 


	2. Late Night Chat

Potion making is a subtle art, one that takes patience, instinct, tact, and precision; I've ruined three batches of sleep tincture before the night is out. I finally lay aside my wasted work and sit before the crackling fire to contemplate the events of the day.  
  
Hermione Granger as my wife. The notion would be laughable if it wasn't so deathly serious. I've never been charged with a ward to protect before. It is a monumental responsibility, and if anyone else had asked it of me, I would have refused out right. But I owe Albus too much to refuse him anything. He has brought me back from the brink more times than I care to dwell on. That I have his absolute trust, after he has seen what I am capable of, is still baffling. But he trusts me none-the-less.   
  
The fire-whiskey burns my throat as I quickly down it. I contemplate tossing the glass into the fire and watching it pop, but it just seems too dramatic. I gaze at the fire, minutes ticking past unheeded. My reverie is interrupted by a knock at my door. Best to get this over with now, I suppose.  
  
"Enter."  
  
Gods, she's aged five years since this afternoon. Her eyes are rimmed with dark circles, and her skin is sallow. She looks altogether gaunt. Even her usually bushy hair looks deflated. I should rise to greet her, but I don't. Instead she crosses my drawing room, coming to a stop before me. I nod at the chair opposite me, and she sits.   
  
"Professor."  
  
"Ms. Granger."  
  
The only sound is the crackle and hiss of burning wood. I raise the carafe of fire-whiskey and pour myself another glass. I cock the bottle towards her and raise an eyebrow.   
  
"No thank you."  
  
The silence begins to thin my patience.   
  
"Why didn't you leave Hogwart's after graduation?"  
  
From the mild look of surprise on her face, it is not the question she was expecting.   
  
"Oh. I suppose I felt safe here. After Ron died" She grows teary-eyed here "the seriousness of the situation was finally clear. I thought perhaps I could help prepare the next generation for the battles still ahead."  
  
"Teaching as war effort?"  
  
She shrugs, and a further answer does not seem forthcoming.  
  
"Why did you come here tonight, Ms. Granger?"  
  
"I had to talk to you. I would never want to burden you…"  
  
"I owe Albus my life. He has asked me to do this thing. I will not refuse him."  
  
I run my fingertip over the rim of my glass. Her eyes follow the movement. Interesting.   
  
"I could just leave, you know. Go into hiding."  
  
"Voldemorte and his followers would find you."  
  
"They know where I am now."  
  
"They know you are being looked after. Voldemorte might be daring, but I assure you my dear, he is anything but stupid. He would definitely think twice before engaging us both."  
  
Her eyes grow wider at my words. Whether it is fear or merely the gradually dawning of understanding, I can't tell.   
  
"Could you really stand it?"  
  
I laugh here, and I think the sound, so foreign, startles her a bit.  
  
"Life with you?"  
  
She nods. "What would it be like."  
  
I forget that for all her new womanly curves, she was a girl not so very long ago.  
  
"Not so different from what it's like now. You'd continue to teach, and improve your skills. I'd allow you to pursue your interests, within reason in regards to your safety - Albus would have my head on a platter if I allowed any harm to come to you. As for your personal life,"  
  
I falter her. If you had told me a year ago that I'd be sitting by my fire, whiskey in hand, discussing Hermione Granger's sex life with her, I would have tossed said whiskey into your face. Gods, the universe plays such tricks on us.   
  
"As for your personal life, you are free to pursue whatever relations you desire, so long as you remain discrete."  
  
"I haven't…since Ron, I haven't…"  
  
I cut her off, perhaps a bit abruptly.   
  
"I have no desire to know, Ms. Granger. As Albus told you earlier, it would be a marriage on paper only."  
  
"I understand."  
  
She looks troubled. And as much as I try to remain objective, I find my voice taking on an irritated edge.  
  
"It must be so disconcerting for you, to find yourself paired off with me. The greasy git, the most hated in all of Hogwart's. You needn't worry you know, Hermione. No one will actually believe you're with me. They'll see the sham for what it is, and no one will think ill of you. The point is you will be safe."  
  
She looks like she's about to start crying. Sweet Merlin I hope she'll grow a thicker skin than that.   
  
"That's not what I was thinking."  
  
"Of course not."  
  
The silence comes rushing back in to fill the void. If this little charade does indeed more forward, I think I'll be facing a great deal of silent contemplation. I make a mental note to stock up on reading material.   
  
She speaks first.   
  
"It's getting late."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
She rises, and pushes back her hair. She looks less haggard than she did when she arrived. The warmth of the fire must have done her some good.   
  
"Think on it, Ms. Granger. Let me know when you've made your decision."  
  
"I already have, Professor…And I thank you for your offer."  
  
"But…"  
  
"There is no but, Professor. I thank you for your offer, and I accept."  
  
Suddenly, my mouth is quite dry.   
  
"In that case, Hermione, I think it's time for you to start calling me Severus." 


	3. Planning the Wedding

Once Hermione has agreed to Dumbledore's little scheme, events are quickly put in order. The students of Hogwart's are still our number one priority, and so it is agreed that it would be best for Hermione and me to cohabitate outside the walls of the castle. A flat is secured for us in Hogsmeade, though the arraignment of the rooms proves somewhat problematic. With a bit of magical rearranging (After which my back inexplicably hurts) I finally settle on a layout. Her room is at the back of the flat, with no entrance except through the room that precedes it. I will sleep there, and thus be better able to keep watch. I'm not overly fond of the idea of Hermione Granger traipsing through my personal chambers at her leisure, but I am willing to sacrifice a modicum of my privacy to ensure her safety. All and all, the situation of the flat resolves itself neatly.   
  
The matter of the wedding flows altogether less smoothly. I pace Albus' office, trying to dissuade him of his laughable notions.  
  
"It's a show of strength to our enemies, Severus. A Lavish celebration would give ample opportunity for…"   
  
"For my public humiliation! Isn't it enough, Albus, to know they'll be snickering behind my back? I won't allow them to laugh in my face."   
  
"Severus, think of the girl. She deserves…"   
  
"She deserves a better man, Albus, I know. Handsome and kind who'll love and protect her, but unfortunately, she's stuck with me! And as long as she's stuck with me I won't…"  
  
A feminine voice cuts through the argument. "Professor, Severus, I think what I deserve is a say here."   
  
I turn to see my soon to be wife leaning against the doorway of the office. How long she's been there, I can't say. Quiet, and sly as a fox when she wants to be.  
  
Albus turns to the young woman and regards her with a smile. Damned old fool, always smiling in the face of disaster.   
  
"That you do, my dear. That you do. I give you the floor."  
  
"Thank you, professor.   
  
I stop my pacing and sink into an arm chair. I murmur under my breath "Accio Liquiris" and the bottle of fire-whiskey on the mantle travels silently across the room and into my waiting hand. Albus frowns at me disapprovingly. That will teach you to be overly cheerful, you old bastard.   
  
Hermione sinks into the seat across from me. I can feel her eyes on me, but I don't feel like meeting her gaze.   
  
"Professor Sna…" She stops herself. "Severus, I understand the awkward position you are being forced into. Believe me, I have no desire to add to that awkwardness. Professor Dumbledore, I agree that a large wedding would be…inappropriate."  
  
I sigh. Thank god she's capable of sensible thinking. Sweet Merlin, I hope it lasts.   
  
"What did you have in mind, Ms. Granger?"  
  
"A simple private ceremony. I was hoping you could preside, Professor."  
  
He nods quietly, his features beginning to grow grave, at last.   
  
"I'd like Professor McGonagall to be there, and Harry and Ginny."  
  
Instead of sneering at the mention of Potter's name, I occupy my lips with the fire-whiskey. I covertly raise my eyes and catch sight of her. There are tension lines across her forehead, and at the corners of her mouth.   
  
"And your parents?"  
  
Whether out of shame or embarrassment, she doesn't meet Dumbledore' eyes.  
  
"No. I have told them that I'll be going into a witness protection of sorts. I didn't feel the need to divulge the - details of the arraignment."  
  
I feel a slight wave of relief wash over me. At least I'll be spared from having to wear her father's cufflinks, or some other equally heinous muggle wedding tradition. And I can well understand her horror at having to present me to mum and dad.   
  
"Very Well, Ms. Granger." The gravity has fled Dumbledore's voice. "Shall we say next Thursday?"  
  
"Severus?"  
  
She looks at me, questioning, and for a second, I think I can almost see something comely about her hazel eyes. In a moment it passes, and I nod. When I look up, I catch Albus looking at me queerly.   
  
"Then it's settled. Thursday in my office. Seven o'clock?"  
  
And just like that, we've set a wedding date.  
  
I startle them both, I think, when I find my voice again.   
  
"That doesn't leave much time for the details now, does it? I'll make a trip into Diagon Alley this afternoon to secure the necessary items. Albus. Hermione."  
  
I nod in their direction, and I'm almost out the door before I realize she's followed me. I can feel her at my back, and we knock shoulders as I turn to face her. She's altogether encroaching too far into my personal space."  
  
"I could go with you."  
  
Before I can voice an objection, Dumbledore's infuriatingly cheerful voice chimes in.   
  
"An excellent idea. Being seen together in public can only help add to the illusion."  
  
"Floo me at two."  
  
If Albus has any doubts as to my undying gratitude, I clear them up for him with the withering look I shoot him before I stalk down the hall and away from his quarters.   
  
You cannot imagine the variety of aromas that assault your nose when you set foot on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. Carts of roast chestnuts and all manner of confections blend with the earthy animal scents of the Menagerie. On top of it all, the sharp herbal tang wafts from the apothecary. But there are other stores here, and today I find myself walking briskly to the end of the alley. Hermione hurries along beside me, and I have to keep reminding myself to slow my pace. I am used to walking alone.   
  
The modest clothier and jewelry shop is not one of my usual haunts. Hermione stops to ruffle through some frivolities. The witch behind the counter squints curiously at me as I peruse the wares behind the glass.  
  
"Can'I 'elp you wi' sumpin?"  
  
"I need a pair of wedding bands."  
  
Her eyes sweep me from head to foot, and I can clearly see the disbelief etched on her fleshy features.   
  
"We've got a lovely set 'ere, Sir."  
  
She pulls a gaudy pair of rings from the cabinet, and sets them on jeweler's velvet before me.   
  
"No."  
  
"Then, these perhaps?"  
  
The second pair is equally deplorable.   
  
"Merlin's sake, woman, don't you have something simple?"  
  
She scowls at me and produces two simple silver rings.   
  
"Who's the lucky lady?"  
  
I twirl one of the rings in my fingers, and gesture over my shoulder.  
  
"The bushy-haired girl by the unmentionable."  
  
The look of horror on the shop keep's face is priceless.   
  
"Hermione? Have a look."  
  
She comes to my side, and gazes down at the rings in my palm.  
  
"Are these acceptable?"  
  
The witch behind the counter looks on Hermione with pity.   
  
"They're lovely, Severus."   
  
"Good. One less thing to worry about. Do you have something to wear?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
"It's not a multiple choice, girl. You either do or you don't."  
  
"Yes, then. How about you?"  
  
I gesture down at my billowing black robes. She looks surprised.   
  
"Oh. Yes." She manages to sputter out. "Black is always very formal."  
  
"Is there anything else you need?"   
  
"No."  
  
I turn my attention back to the shop woman.   
  
"Just these then."  
  
When she reaches out to take my money, her hand is shaking with righteous anger.   
  
"Come, Hermione. You've been out of your cage too long."  
  
The little gasp of shock that our departure elicits is the best thing I've heard all week. 


	4. Wedded Bliss

How does one prepare for a wedding one neither expected nor wanted? I spend the morning grading papers in my old chambers, terrifying first years in the corridors, and choking down a dry and tasteless lunch. What Hermione does, I have no idea. Bad luck, seeing the bride before, and all.   
  
The hours pass so slowly that I'd give my left arm for a time turner. I read. I pace. At one point I even clean out my cabinets. But in the end, there's nothing to do but wait for Chronos to get the lead out. At six, I finally give in and begin preparations for tonight's little circus act.   
  
I shower and shave, drawing the straight razor over my cheek with practiced precision. There are, of course, easier ways to do this, but I've always liked the bracing sting of the blade on my skin. Standing before my dresser, I pull out a heavy black cape and slacks. I remember Hermione's look of disappointment in the clothier's and on a whim I don a silky green shirt. It's frivolous, but then again, that's the point of this whole evening, isn't it? What else could you call a wedding between two people who will never so much as share a bed? With a small length of black cording, I bind my hair back at the nape of my neck. Pulled back from my face I almost feel naked.  
  
I tuck the ring boxes into my pocket, and regard myself in the mirror. No wonder they're all laughing. I look like Albus Dumbledore's trained bear. Snap his fingers and I set to jigging quite nicely. It's amazing how the follies of youth can come back to haunt you. It's staggering how loyalty can strip you of so much pride. And for a moment, I wonder, if Hermione will have to learn these lessons too. But there's no use dwelling on the matter. I have a wedding to attend.   
  
By the stares I elicit as I sweep through the hallways, I assume that the news of my impending union has reached the eager ears of Hogwart's grapevine. I'd like to wipe the smiles of their smug, salivating little faces, but I don't deign to so much as look at them. When I reach Albus' office, I realize that I'm the last to arrive. The Weasly girl is there, looking dour and reluctant, and Minerva stands stoically by her side. Albus stands against his desk, with his ever placid smile gracing his sublime features. I suppress a smirk as I can practically feel the waves of disgust emanating from Potter's direction. And finally, there is Hermione. At this moment, I'm not certain what I expected, but it definitely wasn't this. Her hair has been drawn off her face, and gathered simply behind her neck. The style of the dress she wears is not so remarkable as it's colors. A deep, forest green, the neck and sleeves are trimmed with silver stitching. This is no coincidence. They are my house colors, and must admit, however reluctantly, that they suit her. With everyone's eyes upon me, I realize that I have stopped just inside the doorway. They look as if they half suspect me to bolt.   
  
"Ah, Severus, my boy! We thought we might have to start without you."  
  
I give Albus a tight smile, and approach the small assembly.   
  
"The second year potions essays won't grade themselves." I tell him , and earn a reproachful scowl from Ginny.   
  
Minerva's tone is only slightly combative. "Your students are lucky to have such a dedicated potions master."   
  
"You'd think so, wouldn't you? Funny, THEY never seem to see it that way"  
  
I nod in Potter's direction, but neither of us has ever had much to say to the other.  
  
"Potter."  
  
"Professor."  
  
The awkward silence is broken as the door bursts inward. Apparently I'm not the only straggler.  
  
"Erm, Sorry I'm Late! Dear Gods, 'Ermione you look as pretty as a…a… Well you look a far sight prettier than anything I've ever seen!"  
  
Hermione laughs girlishly as the giant sweeps her up in one brawny arm. He lets her down and punches my shoulder. I don't give the crowd the pleasure of seeing me wince.  
  
"An look at you, Sev'rus, dressed up just like a peacock! You treat this young woman right, y'here or you'll have a whole parcel of angry creatures braying at yer door."  
  
"I'll endeavor to live up to your expectations, Hagrid." I say, but my dry intonation is lost on the simpleton. I step closer to Hermione, and on impulse, I reach for her hand. The second that our skin meets, I can feel her reflexively start to pull away ever so slightly but she holds herself in check. And then she gives my hand a little squeeze. It occurs to me that this is the first time I've ever touched her. I lean in close to her ear to whisper, and I see Harry shoot me a look of disdain. I can't help but sneer and lay my hand on the back of her waist, expressly for his benefit.   
  
"You still have time to run screaming from the room, you know. I'll give you a head's start."  
  
Albus claps his hands above his head to call our attention. All eyes shift to the front of the room, and I lead Hermione forward.   
  
"Alright then. Remember, you had your chance."  
  
The guests flank us as we take our places before Dumbledore. I produce the ring box from my pocket and relinquish it to him. He begins to speak.   
  
"Friends, we are gathered here to witness the joining of Severus Snape and Hermione Granger. Let us look upon their union with the respect and reverence that they deserve."  
  
At least he's had the decency to leave out such words as "love" and "cherish". I'll never forgive him if he has the gall to ask me to love, honor and obey.  
  
"If anyone here has objections to this union, please voice them now."  
  
I turn over my shoulder to arch an antagonistic eyebrow at Potter. I don't know the extent of what she's told him, but he balls up his fists and jams them into his pockets. When no protestations are forthcoming, I turn back to face my bride. Her eyes are downcast, and I can feel her trembling against my fingertips.   
  
"And so we begin. Will you, Severus, take this woman as your companion and comforter, and will you protect and care for her as long as you are so joined?"  
  
I am grateful to him for his carefully chosen words. "I will."  
  
"And will you, Hermione, take this man as your protector and companion, and will you comfort and care for him as long as you are so joined?"  
  
I half expect her to say no, or to say nothing at all. But she manages to keep all but the slightest waiver from her voice. And when she speaks, she meets my eyes and I can see a determination there that is surprising.   
  
"I will."  
  
"Now exchange rings, as symbols of the commitment you have pledged to one another."  
  
He holds out the box before me, and I slip the thin band from it's velvet sheath. Taking her wrist firmly in my hand, I slide the ring over her splayed finger, and mutter:   
  
"Adattarus Annello."   
  
Soft blue light shimmers over the surface of the band as it conforms to fit her finger. Her gaze widens as the light subsides, and she looks into my eyes again. It feels awkward to offer her my hand, but I do. I feel the cool metal meet the juncture of finger and palm, and hear her barely audible incantation.  
  
"Adattarus Annello"  
  
And so it is done.   
  
"By the powers vested in my by the Ministry of Magic, I now join you as companion and consort. May your union be harmonious and a comfort to you both."  
  
Perhaps, it's the fire-whiskey I had with lunch, or perhaps I just want to see the look on Potter's face. I don't quite know what compels me, but before I know what is happening I lean down to Hermione and brush my cool dry lips across hers. It is a chaste kiss, but I can feel her flush none the less. I half expect her to strike me. And yet, she doesn't recoil. She doesn't pull away. The moment is broken when our heads are showered with small white projectiles. I look up to see a beaming Hagrid tossing handfuls of rice. Ignoring the guest, gripping her hand firmly, I lead my wife from the room.   
  
The hall is uncharacteristically deserted for this time of evening, and I find myself wondering if Albus has banished students from the vicinity. When it becomes apparent that we will be unmolested in our journey, I release Hermione's hand. We are no longer touching, but she doesn't stray far from my side.   
  
"I've taken the liberty of having your personal effects removed to our new flat."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
We round the corner to my former residence and I usher her inside.   
  
"Are there any last minute matters here that require your attention, Hermione?"  
  
I produce my wand and use it to pull a few remaining items into a trunk. Books, bottles, jars, and vials stow themselves neatly.  
  
"No. It's not as if I'm really leaving. I'll be back teaching before the week is out."  
  
"What, no time off for the honeymoon?"  
  
She moves to the left as an amulet whizzes by her head.  
  
"Erm, I hadn't thought of that. Do you think we should…"  
  
I cut her off.  
  
"It was an attempt at humor."  
  
"Oh."  
  
The trunk closes with a loud thump, and locks itself. When I concentrate and point my wand at it, it disappears with a loud pop. Then, Silence. I clear my throat.  
  
"Are you ready then?"  
  
"I suppose so. How should we…"  
  
I hold my hand out to her.  
  
"Come here."  
  
She takes my hand, and I draw her to me, wrapping my cloak about her shoulders. She seems momentarily startled to find herself so close. Unsure of what to do with her hands, she lays the palms down on my chest.  
  
"Place your arms about my neck."  
  
She obeys, leaning up to encircle me. I grasp her firmly about the waist until she is pressed against my length. For a moment, my concentration falters, and I lick at the corner of my suddenly dry mouth.   
  
"Ready?"  
  
She nods wordlessly, as we apparate to our new home.   
  
We arrive on the cobbled porch, and awkwardly disentangle ourselves. The cuff of her dress catches against one of my buttons but with a deft flick of my fingers I free her. She stumbles back from me but quickly regains her balance. I watch her take in the exterior of the flat. though whether or not it pleases her, I couldn't say.  
  
"If you're waiting for me to carry you over the threshold, Ms. Granger, I fear you'll be spending a cold night outside."  
  
I sweep past her and flick on the lights. She follows me inside and surveys her new domicile.   
  
"Come along. I'll give you the tour. There's a kitchen there to the left, if you're so inclined, and the head there to the right. This, is my room."  
  
The room is smaller than I am used to, but not smaller than I need. I catch her eyeing the king size bed with trepidation.   
  
"Where - where shall I sleep."  
  
"Oh for Merlin's sake! Through there you stupid girl! Do you honestly think I've gotten tangled up in this terrible mess just for the chance to worm my way into your knickers?"  
  
It is possible that my tone is a bit too sharp. I can see the shock and embarrassment register on her face, and I am ashamed to admit I regret my little outburst.  
  
"Good Night, Professor."  
  
Without another word, she disappears into her room and closes the door.   
  
Lovely. I've managed exactly four minutes of wedded bliss. I shrug off my cape and hang it behind the door. Frustrated and tired, I stalk into the kitchen. Pulling down two tea cups, I wave my wand above them, producing the sweet steaming aroma of Darjeeling. Back in my room, I set my cup upon the night stand and knock softly upon the next bedroom's door. There is no answer.   
  
"Hermione?"  
  
She still remains silent. I turn the knob and am greeted by nothing more than darkness. As my eyes adjust, I peer in to see her, already fast asleep above the blankets. Her hair is splayed out wildly in a fiery corona, and her white shift has crept up to mid thigh. Her cheeks are tear stained. Setting down the teacup, I pull the covers about her, and retreat from her room. But I leave her door cracked slightly open.   
  
The last thing I hear before I sleep is the sound of her breathing. The last thing I think is that I like it. 


	5. Breakfast with the Beast

A loud scraping sound shakes me from sleep, and propels me bolt upright in bed. Glancing to Hermione's room I can see the door still slightly ajar, just as I left it last night. I draw on my robe and clutch my wand out before me. For a moment, I think my mind is playing tricks on me. Overreaction resulting from fraying nerves. But the scratching comes again, louder this time. The noise is coming from outside. I peer inside Hermione's room, where she still languishes in sleep's embrace. I shut the door tight before cautiously treading into the living room. I had anticipated more attempts on her life, but nowhere near this soon. I square myself before the door, wand at the ready, and take a centering breath before whispering, "Alohomora".  
  
The door flies inward, and I tense as I catch a glimpse of a hulking shape occupying the doorway. The disarming spell dies stillborn in my throat, and is replaced by a sigh first of relief, then of annoyance. Chestnut feathers bristling, clawed feet stamping, I find myself ridiculously eye to eye with a hippogriff. For a moment, I wonder if Hagrid has made good on his promise to sic his menagerie on me, but the package dangling from the creatures beak speaks otherwise. The idea of performing obeisance to an overgrown canary is not overly appealing, but the curved raptor claws tapping on the cobblestones convince me of the best course of action. I bend stiffly at the waist, and am relieved when the creature bobs its head up and down. Striding confidently forward (It is always wise to move assuredly around mystical creatures) I peer at the package dangling from it's hooked beak. Its smooth gray tongue dabs at the ribbon with witch it carries the box, and a low noise somewhere between a warble and a screech emanates from its throat. The inscription on the package reads "Hermione Snape" and for a moment I'm taken aback by the oddity of seeing her name joined to mine. I eye the beast warily and ask, "May I?"  
  
The hippogriff sets the package neatly at my feet.   
  
"Thank you."  
  
I take the wet ribbon in hand, but the animal merely eyes me placidly and claws absentmindedly at the ground. I'm contemplating the politest way to shut the door on a Hippogriff when an excited voice cuts through the air.   
  
"Caliban!"  
  
Hermione rushes past me with slight nod of her head and throws her arms around the creature's neck. She ruffles the feathery tufts on its head, and his formidable beak gently preens at the shoulder of her white cotton night gown.   
  
"Is this for me?"  
  
"It appears so. Go ahead and open your box, Pandora."  
  
She cracks the wax seal on the box and pulls off the top. Atop the tissue paper, a letter waits. She reads aloud, but whether it is her custom, or for my benefit, I'm not sure.   
  
"Dear Hermione, you left so quickly I didn't have time to give you your wedding present. I don't want you to be lonely in your new home, so I thought this comforter would do the trick. I had Professor McGonagall cast a cheering charm on it, so just wrap up in it if you're ever feeling blue. Love, Rubeus Hagrid. P.S. Caliban will wait for you if you'd like a ride in to work."  
  
She smoothes back the tissue paper and pulls out a fluffy sky blue comforter with white clouds stitched upon its surface. The clouds seem to drift across the fabric until I realize that they ARE in fact blowing over the shimmery material. It's a child's enchantment really, but she seems delighted. She gets to her feet and ruffles the great bird's feathers.   
  
"You'll wait for me then while I have breakfast?"  
  
He lets out a little squawk that she apparently interprets as a "yes."  
  
"Good boy. I'll even bring you a little snack too. Stay."  
  
The hippogriff nods its head again and she draws the door shut. Wrapping her arms about her gift she turns back to me. She suddenly seems self conscious as she looks down at her state of undress.  
  
"I'd best get dressed. Would you care for breakfast?"  
  
I'm so used to just tea in my quarters before class that the idea of a hot meal seems utterly foreign.   
  
"Alright."  
  
She shuffles her feet, like she's waiting to be dismissed. I wonder how long this awkward politeness will last before we can get on to quiet, but at least comfortable mutual disdain.   
  
"Alright then."  
  
If I wait for her to leave, I'll be here all night, so I turn and remove myself to my room. She follows placidly behind me and goes to her own chambers. I freshen up quickly, and don clean robes for the day. As I stand, a silver gleam catches my eye. I reach down and slide the cool metal band over my finger. My hand feels uncharacteristically heavy. I'm pulled out of my thoughts by the knock that sounds on our mutual door.   
  
"Are you dressed yet?"  
  
She calls through the door.   
  
"Come. I'm as decent as I get."  
  
She breezes quickly through my room to the kitchen. I take a few moments to savor the quiet, before joining her in the humble kitchen. Gods, the girl can be a whirlwind. There are already two mixing bowls, a cutting board, and various utensils dirty in sink. I must admit though, that the aroma that is wafting from the oven is quit appealing.   
  
"Apple Muffins. Mother's old recipe."  
  
"Perfect for ill-tempered husbands, and visiting hippogriffs alike."  
  
"Coffee?"  
  
"No, Thank you."  
  
As she tends to her muffins, I point my wand at the overcrowded sink and mutter, "Scourgify." The dishes resolve themselves neatly.  
  
She pulls the fragrant muffins from the oven and sets them on the countertop.   
  
"There was a cup of tea on my night stand."  
  
"Last night I thought you might care for a cup, but you had already fallen asleep."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Sometimes I think that girl can't stand the sound of silence. She sets a muffin down in front of me, the bites into one of her own. I give it a cautious sniff, then sink my teeth into it. It's not half bad, really. I can't remember the last time anyone cooked for me. I catch Hermione waiting for my reaction, and she quickly looks away. I clear my throat.   
  
"You may give your mother my compliments on her recipe."  
  
She smiles. It suits her.  
  
"Last night I may have been…"  
  
She looks up in anticipation. The little minx. She's EXPECTING an apology.   
  
"I may have been a touch harsh with you. I haven't shared my personal domain with anyone since my childhood, and you have to understand…"  
  
She smiling at me encouragingly. It's insufferable.  
  
"You're really quite lucky I didn't just gag you and toss you in a closet."  
  
Somehow my sharp tone does nothing to wipe that grin from her soft lips.   
  
"Was that an apology?"  
  
I don't know whether to laugh or box her ears. Instead, I merely grit my teeth and tell the truth.   
  
"I think so."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
It was easier when she had a witty come back. It was easier when I could take off precious house points. It was easier when she was still a child and hadn't been touched by so much pain and death.   
  
"When did you become like this?"  
  
It seems I've caught her a bit off guard. The conversation's not over till I say it is, teacup.  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Quieter. Calmer. You used to be such an unendurable know it all."  
  
Her cheek starts to color with annoyance.  
  
"I beg your pardon…"  
  
"Don't get your knickers in a twist. I was paying you a compliment."  
  
"So, I'm only half as annoying as I used to be? That's a compliment?"  
  
"Precisely."  
  
She gets up and pockets the last of the muffins on her way back to her room. I don't much care for being left at the table. I get up and make my way to the living room. The couch I sink down into is a bit lumpy. Hermione doesn't see me as she starts for the door.   
  
"Aren't you forgetting something?"  
  
She looks at me with wide, questioning eyes. I raise my hand and point to my ring finger.   
  
"If I have to wear this façade, you're bloody well going to wear it too."  
  
She pulls her wand out of her robes with such a flourish that I'm half convinced she means to brandish it at me. Instead she barks, "Accio Annello," and balls her fist around the ring that flies to her.   
  
"I've got a charms lesson in under an hour."  
  
"Very well. Let's be on our way."  
  
I offer her my hand, but she turns and opens the door. A contented Caliban is cooing on my porch.   
  
"No."  
  
She pulls a muffin out of her pocket and feeds it to the insipid beast.  
  
"Would you prefer he stays here? Makes a nest, settles down, raises a family of little hippogriffs atop your roof."  
  
I grind my teeth together and approach the creature. I tentatively reach out a hand and lay it aside its neck. Emboldened by his lack of reaction, I lean it close to its feathered head and murmur, "I'm going to mount you now, and if you know what's good for you, you'll be a gentleman about it." He makes a rumbling sort of sound deep in his chest as I swing my leg over his back. When I look down at Hermione, she's smiling like a half-wit. I hold my hand out to her and help her up behind me.   
  
"I'm glad you find me so amusing."  
  
"It could be worse, you know."  
  
"Could it? Please, my dear, enlighten me as to how it could possibly be worse?"  
  
She wraps her arms around my waist, and I momentarily stiffen.   
  
"You could have been assigned to protect Harry."  
  
And as I dig my heels into the hippogriff's flanks and launch into the air with the former Ms. Granger clinging tightly to my back, I realize that she's right. It could be a lot worse. 


	6. Common Ground

My first day of classes, after I have shrugged off stony bachelorhood in favor of stony husbandry, are the worst of it. An unfortunate first year has the bad luck to snicker too loudly at my dramatic entrance and ends up spending an hour of his young life as a caged canary on my desk. When he learns to sing a sweeter tune, I let him out. I know my students still whisper sarcastic comments when they know I have left the room, but not a one is careless enough to slip up in front of me again, lest they learn what the world looks like through the eyes of a rat or pigeon. When Albus hears of the "incident", he is not pleased, although I know Minerva had a good chuckle in spite of herself.   
  
Hermione's day, I learn later, goes a bit more smoothly. Her charms classes slip by quickly and without occurrence. Why they have her teaching charms in the first place is beyond my comprehension. Her considerable talents should not be wasted on such trifles. But at least she's not languishing in divination.  
  
I take lunch in the dungeon, and it comes as no surprise to me that I am not visited by my lady wife. She's off complaining about how wretched her living arrangements are, no doubt to anyone who will listen. At least everyone on the staff has the good sense to avoid me like the plague. Everyone that is except for Albus who catches me in the hall after fourth year potions.   
  
"Severus!"  
  
I briefly consider ignoring his exclamation, but instead halt with my back turned to the elder man.   
  
"What?"  
  
"I hear that Abraxas Smalley is still molting behind the ears."  
  
"Serves the little bastard right. He's lucky I didn't feed him to Mrs. Norris."  
  
"How are things at home?"  
  
"Never better. It's all headaches and hippogriffs."   
  
"How's the girl?"  
  
"I wouldn't know. We don't talk much. We're too busy shagging."  
  
If I bothered to look at him as I left, I'm certain he wouldn't be smiling.   
  
When classes are finished, I retire to my dungeon to catalog my stores. Sitting idly around the flat does not appeal to me. There is work to be done to help the cause, and it can be done in a spacious dungeon or a cramped kitchen. Immersed in a dusty ancient tome, I don't hear her first knock.   
  
"Severus?"  
  
"Enter."  
  
She moves across the floor and approaches my desk.  
  
"Am I interrupting?"  
  
Out of habit, I almost bark out a snide remark, but the truth is I am nearly finished.  
  
"No. I was just preparing to find you. Are you ready to leave?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
I gather up my things and rise. All of a sudden, Hermione approaches me. I squint at her and pull my head back, as she lifts up her hand. Gooseflesh springs to life along my arms as she gently runs her fingers through my hair. It feels like a low level electric shock running through my body. I'm thinking that she's gone quite mad, when she extricates her fingers and pulls something from the side of my head. A feather. Bright yellow. Hades in a hand basket, have I been walking around like that all day?  
  
She twirls the feather between her fingers, smiling.   
  
"Abraxas?"  
  
I nod, feeling the pleasant tingle subside.   
  
"He reminds me of Neville, poor boy. You'll give him a complex, Severus."  
  
"He impugned your honor."  
  
The lopsided smile she gives me rekindles the prick of the goose bumps. I shake my head to dissipate the odd effect.   
  
"Oh, so you were just looking out for me?"  
  
I give her a stiff bow.  
  
"I protect and serve."  
  
"Let's go home."  
  
Funny, she's calling it home already.   
  
Hermione needs some incidentals, and so we stop into town to do some shopping. Neither one of us feels much like cooking, or rather she doesn't feel like cooking, and I don't feel like burning the flat to the ground. Instead, I pick up some cheese, dry sausages, crusty bread, olives, and fruit. We share a surprisingly amiable picnic supper in the living room.   
  
"More wine?"  
  
"Thank you.   
  
She holds out her glass to me, and my wand dispenses a thin stream of a musky red. She curls her legs beneath her on the couch and sips quietly. I top off my own glass before settling into the stiff-backed chair.   
  
"That chair looks terribly uncomfortable."  
  
"It's not so bad. After you've survived the Cruciatus."  
  
Her eyes open wide in momentary alarm, and she quickly lowers them from mine to gaze into her wine glass.  
  
"What's it like?"  
  
No one has ever asked me before. Finding the right words is difficult.  
  
"It feels as if you've been stripped of your skin, and had your raw nerves set afire. It's as if you've been racked until your joints threaten to rend from their sockets. I thought my heart would rupture, and my bones crumble to dust."  
  
Her eyes are bright now, the lashes matted and wet. Her voice sounds strained.   
  
"Ron. That's how they killed him. Did you know?"  
  
I curse myself, and the wine for my stupidity. Sweet Merlin, sometimes I can be so obtuse.  
  
"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."  
  
She looks up at me, searching for sarcasm, but she finds none. I mean it, this time. I am genuinely sorry. She wipes her eyes self-consciously with the back of her hand, and sets down her wine glass.   
  
"I think I've indulged in enough libation for one night."  
  
"As have I."  
  
The silence grows deafening. Damn my wagging tongue. After a few moments she rises to take her soiled plate, and mine, to the kitchen. My voice stops her.   
  
"Ms. Granger…Hermione, there is a matter…what I mean to say is…"  
  
Damn my clumsy wine-addled words. I'm as tongue-tied as a love struck school boy.   
  
"I have been working on a project that possibly you might wish to collaborate on with me…"  
  
She sets down the plates and returns to my side. Buoyed, I continue, and this time my words come more freely.  
  
"I am currently seeking a potion to counteract the effects of the Cruciatus curse. Perhaps you might wish to lend me your considerable talents in this endeavor."  
  
She looks like she's going to cry again, but there is a fierce determination behind her eyes.  
  
"There is no counter-curse to the Crucio."  
  
"Not that we know of. But there are so many elixirs that heal and protect. I can't help but think that with the right combination…"  
  
A change comes over her. The sadness is still there, but I've engaged her Gryffindor loyalty and her inimitable lust for knowledge. Her passion is up, and it suits her.  
  
"And even if it didn't render them totally impervious to Crucio, any resistance would give our wizards an edge."  
  
"Even a small edge. It might just be enough to make a difference. Will you help me find it?"  
  
"Yes, Severus. I will help you."  
  
She holds out her hand to me, and I clasp it firmly. And so, we have an understanding. And so, I have an ally. Life plays such tricks on us.   
  
I hold her hand a bit longer than necessary, and grasp it tighter as I rise.   
  
"First, I will show you where I have already tried, and failed," I pull her gently to her feet.  
  
"And then?"  
  
"Then, we work." 


	7. Things Go Downhill

"Burdock then?"  
Our vivid blue concoction roils against the sides of the silver cauldron. Hermione looks up at me, expectantly.  
"Bramble Leaf, I think. A full dram."  
She cocks her head skeptically.  
"What about the coltsfoot?"  
"Much too early. Patience, my dear."  
Hermione sprinkles the bramble leaf about the edges, and the liquid shimmers incandescently. The potion settles into a gentle simmer. As she leans closer to observe the change her unruly mane falls forward, skimming the surface of the potion.  
"Mind your hair."  
I reach out and capture her hair in my hands, sweeping it over her shoulder and to the side. It's softer than you'd think, for all the frizz and tangles.  
"Thank you." she mutters absent-mindedly, while she scribbles the reaction down in her notes.  
In our three months of married life, much of the awkwardness between us has abated. She no longer thinks anything of sitting beside me on the couch in her nightclothes, tea in one hand and a notebook in the other. When her knee brushes mine and she, lost in thought does not draw away, I no longer jerk away as if burned. We have our spats. She silently fumes, and I vociferously curse the day I ever met Albus Dumbledore. School boy snickers continue follow me down the halls, but they fade from my hearing like a constant white noise that ceases to capture my attention. The Cruciatus antidote has given us a common goal and, I think, served to fill up lonely hours that might otherwise be spent bemoaning our fate. In the past I have always preferred to work alone, but I must admit there are advantages to having such a dedicated and well-read partner. True, the slate of ruined potions is full to the brim, but we have made progress. Ingredients have been ruled out, while others have been shown to produce a small but measurable benefit. I am convinced there is an antidote; it's merely a matter of finding the right combination. It might be like searching for a needle in a hay stack, but at least there are now two sets of hands.  
The boiling subsides to a gentle simmer. "You can add your coltsfoot now."  
As she does so the potion shudders, turning a brilliant violet before congealing into a semi-solid state. Another batch ruined.  
"Oh Fuck's sake!"  
"We'll try again in two days. Without the coltsfoot, I think."  
She sighs and her hazel eyes grow misty. She puts a hand to her brow and rubs the wrinkles that form between her eyebrows.  
I lay my hands on gingerly her shoulders, and she does not shrug from my touch. Her head lolls forward, and I can feel the knots of frustration between her shoulder blades. I tentatively press the flat of my hand against her spine, and apply an even pressure.  
"We will find it, Hermione. Conscientious application of the scientific method, in time will…"  
"I want to go out." There is an unfamiliar note of desperation in her voice that puzzles me "Out? Why?"  
She brushes my hands from her back a bit roughly and steps away.  
"What does it matter? I just do! I'm going stir crazy in this house."  
This odd fluctuation in her demeanor is disconcerting. We've been working hard. Perhaps the lack of apparent success has gotten to her. She is still so young, and unaccustomed to failure. Albus was the one who requested I undertake her protection. Truly, she has asked so very little of me since we wed. I acquiesce without an argument.  
"I'll get my coat."  
Hermione disappears into her room and reemerges in jeans and a purple jumper. She's made up her face, and pulled her hair back. We must look such a pair, me in my black cassock, and her easily passing for a muggle college student. I know what the students and unenlightened faculty of Hogwart's think of us. What the outside world thinks, I can only imagine. For all her bright colored clothes and makeup, Hermione looks ashen and grave.  
"Is something...are you quite alright?"  
I stumble over my words. The awkwardness may have abated, but it is not entirely gone.  
"I'd like a drink."  
"Three Broomsticks?"  
"Fine."  
  
I tread the cobblestones warily, looking over my shoulder at regular intervals. We are more vulnerable here, than at Hogwart's or in our flat, and so my guard is raised. Hermione, on the other hand doesn't seem to be aware of the world around her. She walks the path to The Three Broomsticks with single-minded focus.  
The pub itself is not quite bustling. In an hour there won't be a seat in the house, but there are several small tables free at present. I pull a chair out for her and she drops into it heavily. She doesn't look up as I settle across from her. Her apathetic silence is unnerving. Before I can find out the reason for her dark mood, a bar maid is awaiting our order.  
"Scotch."  
It's odd to hear her order anything stronger than a glass of wine. My mouth waters at the thought of a fire whiskey, but I can't chance it when danger could approach from any direction.  
"Are you going to tell me what's weighing on you?"  
She does look up now, to take the scotch from the bar maid, but she still avoids my gaze. She gulps down a third of the glass in one pass.  
"I'm fine."  
She finishes the glass in two more swigs, and flags down the serving woman for a second.  
"No, you're certainly not fine. I can find out you know, if you won't tell me." My last remark sounds more ominous than I intended.  
As she continues to nurse her drink, I can see tears threatening to well from her eyes. Just when I think I'm beginning to understand her.  
"Ron. Today…it will be a year today."  
My stomach clenches, and I find myself reconsidering the prospects of a fire whiskey. In a heartbeat, she feels like a stranger to me again. I should tell her I'm sorry, or that I understand what it is to lose a comrade and a loved one. But words of comfort seem hollow and foreign.  
"Do you plan to memorialize Mr. Weasley by drinking yourself into oblivion?"  
"Yes."  
She's already tipsy, and drinking at such an accelerated pace that before long she'll be faced.  
"I think it's time we left."  
"Just because you're old enough to be my father doesn't give you the right to act like my father."  
I'm taken aback at the vitriol in her voice.  
"One of us needs to act like an adult and since you've obviously decided to behave like a child…"  
She doesn't wait for me to finish before springing from her seat and marching up to the counter for another dose. I watch in disbelief as she sits down at a bar stool with her back to me. Fine. Let her stew there till she needs to be carried home. And judging from her breakneck pace, it'll be sooner rather than later. I'm contemplating a late night snack, when my nerves set to edge. A man has slipped onto the bar stool beside her.  
He's twenty-five at the most, with a broad strong build and sandy blond hair. The tavern has filled up since we arrived, and the noise drowns out their conversation. I see her wipe at her eyes, and laugh. The young man offers her another drink, and she accepts. All fine and well. Let him entertain her for awhile. She doesn't notice that I've left the table and moved to the bar. In her drunken haze, she is too enamored with her new companion to realize that I've drawn near enough to close the distance between them in one stride. He is, most likely, exactly what he looks like: A handsome rouge looking to take advantage of an inebriated girl. But one never knows.  
They continue to talk for a while, and he shifts, facing her more completely, his knees brushing hers as he turns. The barkeep enquires as to my drink selection, but all he gets for his trouble is a glance that's at least enough to make him grumble silently to himself instead of to my face. I watch as the blonde man pushes Hermione's hair back from her face, and become aware that my jaw is clenched. She giggles now, stinking drunk. I mentally chide myself for the shaking that seems to have possessed my hands. And then, with no warning, she leans into him and presses her lips to his. In a blink of an eye I'm out of my chair and at her side. My voice is low, barely a whisper.  
"We're leaving."  
Startled, she pulls away from him, her pupils dilated, and her breath reeking with the sour stench of alcohol.  
"I was just having a conversation with…"  
She squints at her new acquaintance, as if trying to recall.  
"Sarpedon, here."  
"You were just making a spectacle of yourself."  
The youth looks over at me with undisguised condescension. His eyes don't leave my face as he address Hermione.  
"Is he bothering you?"  
I feel an unexpected swell of anger as she squeezes this virtual stranger's forearm. I realize that I'm firmly gripping the handle of my wand.  
"No. Ignore him."  
I manacle her wrist with my hand, and remove it from his arm. Her reaction is delayed, but when she does react she pulls violently away from me.  
"Let go of me, you greasy git!"  
I tell myself that she's sick with grief, inebriated and overtaxed, but her words hit their mark and sting. I step back from her like I've been struck in the face.  
Her paramour stands and moves closer to me, posturing like a peacock. For an instant, the words of the unforgiveables run through my mind. I could justify it. I could swear he was about to kill her.  
"Look I don't know what your problem is, but…"  
Hermione steps between us, laying her hands against his chest.  
"No, no, it's ok. He's my Husband."  
He looks confused. Then he laughs.  
"You're kidding."  
My stomach drops as she leans in to kiss him deeply on the mouth. His hands slip down to her waist, and fan out over the top of her rear. She pulls back and whispers, "It's ok. He...can't. He likes to watch."  
"I'm not performing for the likes of him. Let me take you to my flat."  
I fight the urge to rip her off him and drag her from the tavern. I thrust my clenched fists into my pockets and remind myself that her drunken fumblings are not my concern. I have vowed to protect her from Voldemorte and his followers. I cannot protect her from herself. If she needs to do this thing, I will not stop her. Let her learn the hard way and deal with the repercussions in the morning.  
He plunks down cash on the countertop, and takes her hand. He means to brush past me, when a wave of worry engulfs me. Perhaps I've let me emotions cloud my judgment. What if he's one of them, just waiting to get her out of my sight and vulnerable? He could snap her neck in a heartbeat. I have to know.  
I catch him off-guard, my hands shooting out to clasp his face roughly between them. I look deeply into his surprised blue eyes and whisper: "Legilimens."  
A variety of images spin out from his mind, and I see them engraved on the backs of his corneas. Lust. Desire. He plans to rut her and leave. Nothing more. He shoves my arms roughly from his face.  
"Get your hands off me."  
Hermione has stepped between us. I look down at her puffy face, still wet with tears, and something in me tightens. I feel a twisting in my chest, bile rising in my throat, a cold sweat breaking out along my brow. I lay a hand aside her face, and she flinches. I want to appeal to her logic and quietly convince her to follow me home alone. Instead I speak to her softly.  
"You will not go with this stranger to a place where I cannot protect you. You will bring him to our home, and have done with it there."  
To all the world I must look like a doddering old man clutching desperately at the emotions of a girl who has shunned me. And when they brush past me, and out of the pub, I wonder if perhaps that is exactly what I am.  
  
When we reach the flat, the amorous couple makes a beeline for her bedroom. Hermione doesn't meet my gaze she draws the door shut and locks it. I sit down on my bed, and listen to them fumble on the other side of the wall. In a few moments, I can hear the mattress creak, and the headboard tap against the wall. I rise and pace the living room, but the sounds of their rutting reaches me even there. I contemplate casting a silencing charm, but I don't want to give her the satisfaction. I want her to know, in the morning, that I heard every groan and whimper. Perhaps then she might learn some shame.  
I feel monumentally uncomfortable in my own home, as I prowl back and forth in the sitting room. The sounds of their lovemaking have grown quiet, replaced by indistinct voices. I strain to make out the words, but I'm too far away. I'm about to cast a charm, when I hear a loud "No." followed by the unmistakable sound of a open hand connecting with a cheek. I rush to my room as the sounds of a tussle ensue. Drawing my wand I call out. "Alohamora" and push into the room.  
Hermione, in skivvies, is backed against the headboard. The Shirtless young man has one of her wrists locked in his hand, her arm pressed against the wall. She looks up at me, bewildered, and I can see fear in her scotch addled gaze. The man's head spins around quick enough to see me catch him smartly across the throat, knocking the wind out of him as he crashes to his arse. In a moment he's back on his feet, coming towards me, but the tip of my wand leveled at his chest gives him pause.  
"Apparently tonight is not your night, after all."  
He's angry like only a blue-balled twit can be, and grabs roughly at his shirt on the ground. Unfortunately, my foot is firmly planted atop it. When it becomes clear to him that my movement is not forthcoming, he gives up and shoves past me.  
"Fuck you! Fuck both of you!"  
I don't move until I hear the front door slam shut on its hinges. Looking down at the rumpled shirt, I remove my foot.  
"Incendio."  
In seconds, it's a pile of ashes. Let her clean them up in the morning. I leave my back to her, as I make for the door, but a stifled sob checks me. When I turn to look at her, she has modestly drawn the covers up over her chest. Her lips are still swollen from ardent kisses, and her hair is even more tangled than usual. I want to strike her so hard across the face that she tastes blood. And then, Gods help me, I want to taste it on her lips.  
"Severus."  
I remember her words in the tavern. I remember how she wrenched from my grasp, and flinched when I touched her. I don't know if it's the look I gave her, or my voice that makes her fall silent.  
"Mr. Weasley would be so disappointed in you."  
And with that, I shut the door behind me. 


	8. Making Amends

It is not so much that I wake early, but rather that I never quite fall to sleep. Finally as dawn creeps under the doorjamb, I give up and abandon my bed. In the kitchen, I conjure a cup of black coffee and attempt to read the paper. I scan the front page, only to find that I've retained nothing of the details. I attempt to read the stories again. It seems like hours until my classes start. I'm torn between dreading the day at Hogwart's and being grateful that I'll have several hours with her out of my sight.  
  
I draw myself up as she enters the kitchen, and bury my face deeper in the paper. I can hear her slippered feet shuffling about the tiles, and the sounds of liquid materializing in a china teacup. I turn the page, feigning great interest in the newsprint. When the silence gets to loud, I raise my gaze over the top of the paper. I am unprepared for her condition. Hermione's hair cascades around her in tangles, and dark circles rim her sunken eyes. When her eyes meet mine, they are haunted, horrified. The very air around her is screaming out in regret and shame. She comes to the kitchen table and sits across from me. Quickly, I lower my eyes back to the news.  
"Oh, Severus."  
  
There is a hitch in her voice. I know she is looking at me, but I continue to peruse the paper. "When I said that you could engage in discrete liaisons, that was not what I had in mind." "I'm so sorry."  
  
I turn the page nonchalantly.  
"No need to apologize. We all have…urges. Some of us are able to control ourselves, some of us, well…" I give her a pointed look over the top of the paper and she has the decency to look wounded. "Don't expect me to come running to your rescue next time you change your mind, half way through." I think I half-expected tears, but none stain her cheeks. She does, however, look utterly miserable. Good.  
  
"I apologize for my behavior last night. I never meant the names I called you, Severus. The things I said…Please, I want you to know..."  
  
Her simpering apology is too much. I slam the paper down on the table and glare at her. "I think I know perfectly well how you feel about me, Ms. Granger. At least have the decency to own your feelings when you've loudly exclaimed them for all and sundry to hear!"  
  
She falls silent, and works her fingers through the knots in her hair. I catch her reflection in the black scrying mirror of my coffee and I can see that finally, tears are threatening to spill from her eyes.  
"Thank you for not leaving me there."  
"You have Albus Dumbledore to thank, not me, you insufferable tease. I should have let that sod take you to his flat and have his way with you. The way you lead him on…disgraceful…"  
  
She tries to interject, "I'd had too much to…"  
  
"Like a common little trollop…" My voice is growing deathly quiet. Her volume is ascending.  
  
"too much to drink and…"  
  
"Like a bitch in heat…"  
  
"Ron, I was so upset about…"  
  
"Like a slut in need of mounting!"  
  
"How dare you!"  
  
She jumps to her feet, her face red with disbelief at my vicious barbs. Without conscious effort, I find myself standing as well. I'm surprised by the forcefulness of my own anger. Then, suddenly, I'm uncomfortably hot as I realize that I've advanced on her. She hasn't backed down, and stands just inches away from me. My hands are clenched into sweaty fists in my pockets. I was prepared to let her off the hook. I was prepared to walk away and live in quiet, compartmentalized disdain. But now…  
  
"How dare I? How dare I? You were perfectly prepared to bring a stranger you just met, into MY home and fuck him senseless less than two feet from my head with only a paper thin wall to separate us! Even now, I'm sure half of Hogwart's has already heard about your little spectacle. Did it ever occur to you just how effectively you've made me a laughing stock?"  
  
My words sink in and penetrate her rational core. She looks very contrite and sinks back down into her chair. I do not retreat; instead I stay standing over her and cast my shadow across her face. When she looks up at me, I can see genuine regret etched on her features. And then she surprises me. She reaches out and lays her hand to my cheek. And this time, I flinch, half-expecting a slap for my harsh words a few moments earlier. I'm caught there by the unexpected tenderness of her spontaneous touch. I am angry still, humiliated and wounded, but her touch, damn her, stirs something in my breast.  
  
"You have been a vigilant protector and kind friend to me, Severus, and I have treated you shamefully. I know you didn't ask for this, I know you don't want to be here, and I know how much trust you placed in me to not to make a difficult situation more difficult."  
  
Her hand on my face, and her soft tone transfix me. I want to lash out at her, speak scathing words that make her flinch as if struck. I cannot. I must look such a fool, staring at her, unblinking as she continues.  
  
"If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I will endeavor to be worthy of your trust again."  
  
I close my eyes and slip away from her fingertips. By the time I gain my feet, I've found a measure of composure and my voice has returned.  
  
"The next time you find yourself in pursuit of a little carnal distraction, you will consult me BEFORE consuming mass quantities of alcoholic beverages. Do you understand?"  
  
"Are you accepting my apology?"  
  
"I'm not going to make you live in the dungeon and wear a red A on your chest, if that's what you're asking."  
  
She smiles for the first time this morning, and I find my spirit lifting with the corners of her lips.  
  
"Thank you, Severus."  
  
The words seem awkward and unwieldy as I try to remember the last time I spoke them:  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
The beginning of the school day goes surprisingly smooth. There is no mention of the incident of the previous night, and I'm half certain that Albus has cast a memory charm over the entire student body. I suppose it's also possible that my personal life is not foremost on my students minds. Either way, I don't expect it to last. Peace, happiness, and contentment never do. I spend the lunch break in my dungeon, taking inventory of my stores, and making note of which items need restocking. Time slips quickly away, and I realize that my advanced class is due to begin a quarter of an hour. I triple-ward the cabinet to protect against any childish pranks (Insufferable third years. So much time on their hands, so little sense) and take my leave. I walk stealthily thru the halls but childish snickering halts my step.  
  
"And then, she left him standing there, drink in hand, and went to the other bloke's flat!"  
  
The repugnant little Gryffindor regales two of his comrades, and is so occupied with his devious glee that he fails to notice my approach. His friends, however, have seen me, and from the looks of terror on their sweaty faces I must be sporting a fearsome countenance. I've drawn my wand and extended it over the head of the unfortunate Gryffindor before he turns.  
  
"Mr. Weatherston!"  
  
He jumps and cracks his head against my wand, rubbing his scalp and sputtering in fear as he turns to face me. I'm contemplating a thousand different curses, but just as my tongue begins to form the words, I feel a presence at my side. A warm hand slides into my own, and a pair of plump lips press against the corner of my mouth. It takes Herculean effort to keep my mouth from gaping like a codfish, but I manage with more success than Mr. Weatherston. A feminine voice purrs in my ear.  
  
"Hello darling. I missed you at lunch."  
  
I wrap my arm about Hermione's waist and pull her against my side. She lays her open hand on my chest, and her head upon my shoulder. She fits there surprisingly well.  
  
"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weatherston."  
  
The stunned ragamuffin, still gapping, is taken in hand by his less vapid companions. They drag him out from my shadow and down the corridor. He's almost out of sight when I startle them all.  
  
"Oh, and Mr. Weatherston, You should consider yourself monumentally lucky. I WOULD keep you in detention, however…"  
  
I pull Hermione a bit closer to me, and arch a brow at the mincing twit.  
  
"I already have far more enticing plans for this evening."  
  
They skid around the corner so fast, I almost expect to see clouds of dust in their wake. I keep hold of Hermione perhaps a beat longer than necessary, and give her hand a small squeeze before releasing it. For the first time since she slid her hand into mine, I turn slightly and glance at her. She gives me a lopsided grin, and I feel a resurgence of the affection that has crept upon me in the last three months.  
  
"You didn't have to do that, you know. I don't think we're fooling anyone, Hermione."  
  
"Andrew Weatherston looked convinced."  
  
"Then we can be assured off effectively duping all types of fungus, some blossoming plants, and several species of crawling insect."  
  
"From the look on your face, if I hadn't stepped in I think Mr. Weatherston would have BEEN a crawling insect in a few seconds."  
  
"I could have turned the other two into sparrows and seen just how long their long their friendship lasted." I smirk at her, but her eyes have become grave.  
  
"Never underestimate the power of friendship, Severus. Sometimes, dragging it through the mud, across broken glass, and over hot coals only serves to make it stronger and more dear."  
  
I think of all I have been through with Albus, and I think of all I know I have yet to face with her. The gravity of the moment suddenly strikes me, and find myself reaching for her hand once more, and holding it tight. She's right, Merlin help us, she's right.  
  
"Indeed it can, my dear, indeed it can."  
  
She slips her hand into the crook of my arm, and walks me to my class. The return of our familiarity feels reassuring. I know I will be starting my lecture late and yet, somehow I cannot find it in me to care. 


	9. A Potion Behaves

The end of the day runs out quickly, with my last class ending a full hour before Hermione will be prepared to leave. I plan to wait, unmolested in the dark sanctuary of my dungeon until she joins me, but alas, a knock at the door interrupts my quietude.  
  
"Go away!"  
  
Albus Dumbledore ignores my vocalization and enters my study. His knocks are never really a question; they're more of a courtesy warning. He's still wearing his ever present smile, but that damned twinkle is absent from his aged eyes.  
  
"Good Afternoon, Severus. How are things?"  
  
So he's here on recon, is he? Trying to decide if his terrible solution has eclipsed terrible and skipped ahead to heinous.  
  
"Things are as they are, Albus. Is there something specific you would like to ask me, or did you plan on skirting that particular white elephant for the rest of my tenure here at Hogwart's?"  
  
He sighs. You'd think, by now, he'd have learned to take a more direct approach with me. I have no patience for empty niceties and meaningless social conventions.  
  
"I would appreciate it if you would refrain from threatening students in the halls. You are aware of the position your behavior puts me in?"  
  
"If you screened your applicants better, they wouldn't need threatening."  
  
He decides to drop that particular line of conversation and get to the point.  
  
"I have heard reports of last night's - incident."  
  
"And what incident might that be, Albus?" I ask with mock confusion. If he wants to hear the gory details, by Merlin he's going to have to work for it.  
  
"Severus, she's under a great deal of pressure. You have every right to be - angry - but please keep in mind that Hermione…"  
  
Another knock interrupts his babbling.  
  
"Come."  
  
Hermione enters my chambers in a flurry, beginning to remove her cumbersome robe even before she's passed the threshold. She tosses the fluttering material over her head, exposing her fitted jumper and sensible slacks.  
  
"I was thinking of stopping by the market on the way home tonight. I thought we might get some…Oh!"  
  
She cuts off suddenly as she becomes aware of Dumbledore's presence. As for Albus, he is regarding her with a look of mild Surprise. She tips her head to him respectfully.  
  
"I'm so sorry to interrupt, Professor."  
  
Her gaze carries over his shoulder and meets mine.  
  
"Shall I wait for you in the hall, Severus?"  
  
"No need, my dear. Albus and I are quite finished. Unless…" I arch an eyebrow at my mentor and purse my lips. "Was there something else you wished to discuss, Albus?"  
  
Albus squints a bit as he considers me, as if he's trying to put the pieces together. From the look of disbelief in his eyes, our quiet and uneventful demeanors are not what he expected. Hermione slips into the anteroom to gather her things, while a dumbstruck Dumbledore continues to regard me mutely. I mutter to him under my breath.  
  
"Dear God, Man, did you expect to find her cowering under my heel and beginning forgiveness? Do you truly think me such a tyrant?"  
  
"I thought perhaps…"  
  
"Well, apparently you thought incorrectly. She is a grown woman after all, and perfectly capable of sorting out her own messes without your help, you meddling old bat."  
  
From the smile spreading across his wrinkled countenance, you'd think I'd just poured out my undying respect and gratitude. I ignore his grinning and call out to Hermione.  
  
"If you'd like to make that stop at the market, we'd best be on our way."  
  
She joins me behind my desk, and I reach for her hand. Dumbledore looks even more astonished when her hand molds naturally to my own. I nod to him.  
  
"Albus."  
  
Hermione emulates my gesture and valediction.  
  
"Professor."  
  
We walk out hand and hand, leaving the speechless old fool staring at our backs.  
  
Contrary to popular belief, I am not a cold and uncaring monster. It is possible that I have less patience than some and crave solitude more than most. It is a fact that I do not suffer fools gladly, and have no compunction for making my derision known to anyone who cares to probe for my opinion. But none of these things make me heartless, and as I walk down the street with my bride-in-name-only it occurs to me that companionship has its own rewards. I haven't forgotten her behavior of the previous night, and when I allow myself to revisit her harsh words and foolish deeds I must admit that I feel a twinge of angry humiliation. But her attitude since has gone a long way towards pacifying my resentment. She has spoken words of apology, but it is her actions that redeem her.  
  
"Don't you think strolling through the streets arm in arm is a little much?"  
  
She mulls the question over as her feet tread the cobblestones of Hogsmeade.  
  
"I think that I owe you the decency of keeping up appearances."  
  
"You're a strange girl. You know that don't you?"  
  
"I've been called worse."  
  
"Yes, by me, at breakfast if I recall correctly."  
  
The little market appears just around the bend.  
  
"I'm going to cook dinner tonight. What would you have?"  
  
"Oh anything. Fish maybe."  
  
She wrinkles her nose at my suggestion.  
  
"How about something less pungent?"  
  
We have reached the market and she runs her hands over the fresh produce on display along the curb.  
  
"If you're playing at housewife, then you choose. Isn't that how this is supposed to work? You decide what's good for me, I shovel in food that I detest, resentment grows and we wind up taking separate vacations with our respective lovers."  
  
She drops a bunch of grapes into a bag and laughs.  
  
"You're awfully cynical, aren't you, husband?"  
  
"If that realization has just now dawned on you, you're not half as smart as I've suspected you are."  
  
"Do you object to roast chicken?"  
  
"Not in theory. You're not going to cover it in jam or dried fruit, or some other such 'sophistication' are you?"  
  
"Garlic and rosemary?"  
  
"Acceptable. Are you quite done yet?"  
  
"Almost."  
  
She adds a bottle of white wine to her purchases and retires to the checkout. I wrap up a bunch of sweet basil and join her at the register. She looks down at my hand questioningly.  
  
"Basil?"  
  
"I thought we might resume our work on a new batch of potion tonight. The moon will be full, after all."  
  
Her smile is genuine and she makes no attempt to hid her delight at this sign that she is, in fact, once again in my good graces.  
  
"Excellent."  
  
Her dinner proves to be delightful. I find my plate cleaned, and my wine glass empty.  
  
"The chicken was quite good. You'll make someone a fine wife one day."  
  
She smiles as she clears my plate and sets the dishes to washing themselves. I rise and cast a wary eye over the cauldron. The potion base I busied myself with as she cooked our meal seems to be setting up nicely. She peers over my shoulder.  
  
"What shall we add to louse up this batch?" She queries.  
  
I chuckle, not so much at her joke but at my nagging certainty that tonight's efforts most likely will end in vain.  
  
"Sweet basil, a bezoar and graphorn shavings."  
  
"Where did you come by Graphorn?" She asks, surprised.  
  
"I've been holding onto my stash for several years now. I acquired it before they became endangered."  
  
I scatter the basil leaves into the potion and stir it gently. There is a slight color change, but no other noticeable effect. I continue to stir it slowly while Hermione looks on.  
  
"Add the Bezoar please, Hermione."  
  
She does so and the potions turns an incandescent magenta. So far, so good.  
  
"It seems to be working. Or at least not exploding."  
  
"Very astute, my dear. I suppose it's time for the graphorn."  
  
"Isn't it rather…volatile?"  
  
"Yes. But it can be a remarkable restorative."  
  
She holds the shavings over the cauldron, but I press her back.  
  
"You'd best let me deal with those."  
  
She relinquishes them into my palm, and steeling myself I let them slip into the bright-hued potion. There is a shudder and the surface ripples outward. The magenta color has fled, instead replaced by a handsome golden light. I hold my breath. No further reaction occurs.  
  
"Is everything alright, Severus?"  
  
I exhale sharply but still keep a watchful eye on the brew.  
  
"Bring me a sharp kitchen knife."  
  
She does not hesitate to obey my request, and in a few seconds, she presses the handle of the blade into my open palm. I roll my sleeve back to expose the white flesh of my forearm. She gasps as I insert the blade into the muscle and pull. The cut is shallow enough but a trickle of blood seeps out and across my pale skin.  
  
"What have you done?"  
  
"There's only one way to test it. Come and help me."  
  
She steps forward, and I hold my arm out to her. She turns my cuff up farther and kneels in front of me, resting my arm in the crook of her lap. Grasping the long stirring spoon she brings it over my arm and drops the vivid yellow unto the cut. There is a tingling, followed by a cooling sensation. As I watch my blighted flesh it knits smoothly with only the faintest hint of a scar. She grips my arm tighter and her eyes meet mine. They're full of a glorious hope that makes my heart give a hitch in my breast. She flings herself forward, wrapping her arms around my neck with unabashed glee. Unsure what to do with my hands, I wrap them tentatively around her back.  
  
"Oh Severus!"  
  
Her enthusiasm is contagious but I remind myself that we still have no proof that this new concoction can stand up to the Cruciatus.  
  
"It's merely a start, Hermione."  
  
She pulls back and I see that my words of caution have had no dampening effect on her high spirits.  
  
"Just a start?" She takes hold of my arm and scrutinizes it closely. "I've never seen a cut mend so cleanly!"  
  
I run my thumb over the healed skin. I can't entirely repress my smile so I twist it into a smirk.  
  
"It is rather impressive, isn't it?"  
  
She looks so happy and in a dark corner of my mind, carefully hidden from light, is the realization that I am not entirely displeased to be the source of her new happiness. I shrug the notion away, but it sticks.  
  
"I'd say we'd had enough for one night, wouldn't you? Let's get this bottled."  
  
She rises and plucks a dozen stoppered bottles from the cabinet. She uncorks each one as I ladle our hopes into the dark glass. When the last of the potion is accounted for, I tuck them into the back of a cool, shady cupboard. I nearly bump into Hermione as I turn around.  
  
"What comes next?"  
  
"Tomorrow we test its effectiveness in counteracting the Cruciatus."  
  
A look of concern darkens her features.  
  
"But who do we test it on?"  
  
I find myself turning away from her worried gaze before I speak.  
  
"Me, of course." 


	10. Manipulating the Mentor

"This is preposterous!"  
  
I've seen Albus Dumbledore annoyed, irritated, frustrated, and even angry but I've never seen him quite this livid.  
  
"I'd certainly have no trouble finding plenty of witches and wizards who are eager to torture me, but you're the one I trust. So find your bloody backbone man, and let's get on with it!"  
  
Albus Dumbledore distances himself behind the protective shell of his desk, popping a lemon drop between his puckered lips.  
  
"I cannot allow one of my professors to deliberately put themselves in a position…"  
  
I feel my anger growing as I advance upon him, slamming my open palms down onto his desk.  
  
"Don't you DARE hide behind your title you hypocritical old bastard. You've sent me into far worse positions than this. Or don't you have the stomach to think on what the dark lord extracts as proof of allegiance from a supplicant who has fallen from his good graces!"  
  
Hermione, who has remained silent until now, comes to my side. I straighten myself up and back away from his desk, leaving her to reason with him. When she speaks, her voice is lower than mine.  
  
"Professor…I understand your reluctance to help us. When he first explained his plan to me, I too had…misgivings, however Severus…"  
  
Dumbledore cuts her off, staring with fatherly seriousness into her large, earnest eyes.  
  
"Severus does not always have his best interests in mind, Hermione…"  
  
Now it is her turn to interrupt. "Which is precisely why we come to YOU for help professor. Our work on this potion, if it proves successful, could have an incalculable effect on our efforts to defeat Voldemort and his followers. If Severus is willing to…"  
  
I don't care to be spoken of as if I am no longer in the room. I decide to remind them of my presence.  
  
"I'm going to do this, with or without your help, old man."  
  
His attention shifts back to me.  
  
"You are leaving me precious few choices, dear boy. You are aware I am capable of revoking your status of professor here at Hogwart's?"  
  
"Go ahead. My work on this potion is far more important that teaching your little brats how to brew Quitich-skill enhancing elixirs."  
  
I lay my hands upon Hermione's back in a possessive gesture that seems to unsettle him. I note that she does not flinch from my touch, and my hands remain in an unmoving caress just above the angel's wings of her shoulder blades.  
  
"The girl herself is willing to help me, even as lacking as her skills are in this arena. I would prefer to let her innocence remain intact, but if you are unwilling, Albus, I don't see what other choices you leave ME…"  
  
I let my voice trail off, suggesting all sorts of debauched acts. It's a bluff of course. She's too pure, her magic too unsullied. I won't be the one to taint her, and Dumbledore should know that. But whether or not he believes it is quite another matter entirely.  
  
Albus sighs in defeat, and I can almost taste victory. Who would have imagined, it tastes like lemon drops?  
  
"I admire your courage, Severus, if not your discretion. Do you truly believe this elixir stands a chance against the Cruciatus?"  
  
"There is only one way to find out, Albus."  
  
His resolve finally breaks down, and he rises from his chair.  
  
"When?"  
  
"Three hours. I'd like some time to prepare, but that's still early enough that on the outside chance this potion is a total failure, I'll still have time to recuperate over the weekend. Don't worry, Albus. Your students won't be without a potions master for very long."  
  
I give Hermione's shoulders a conspiratorial squeeze before releasing her.  
  
"I'd like Professor MacGonagall to keep an eye on Hermione while we perform the experiment."  
  
Albus nods, but Hermione spins on me with a look of disbelief.  
  
"Oh no! I will be right here with you. Someone needs to be observing the effects, and…"  
  
"It is not an easy thing to watch, my dear, I think you would be more comfortable…"  
  
"I would be more comfortable here. We're in this together, Severus."  
  
"Do you enjoy my pain so much?"  
  
She smiles at me, and I'm struck by the emotion that flutters in my chest. Albus interrupts our little revere.  
  
"Three hours time then. I require some time to prepare as well."  
  
His face is grave, and I know how much this has cost him.  
  
"If there was any other way, my friend, I would not ask this of you. You have my thanks, Albus."  
  
We might fight like cats and dogs, but we have always understood each other.  
  
Hermione and I take our leave, side by side as we stroll down the hallway. I struggle to express my gratitude at her support.  
  
"I appreciate your resolve in this matter. You don't quail in the face opposition, do you?"  
  
"Not when I'm right."  
  
"I see. And when are you NOT right, you little Know-It-All?"  
  
My comment elicits a pretty laugh from her, though it's a bit forced. I know the events of the upcoming hours are weighing on her.  
  
"Shall we get something to eat, Severus?"  
  
"Hmmm…I don't think that's such a good idea. The pain of the Cruciatus can be…overwhelming and I'd prefer to keep my dignity. A full stomach would make that…difficult."  
  
She looks queasy herself, and abandons the hope of her meal. Her concern is…touching.  
  
"Have you really experienced it before?" Her voice has dropped to a whisper. "The Cruciatus, I mean."  
  
"Indeed I have. Many times."  
  
"Many? When?"  
  
"Oh, the first time I was a decade younger than you."  
  
My nonchalance does nothing to abate the horror that contorts her features.  
  
"You were a child?"  
  
"My father had some interesting notions about crime and punishment."  
  
"I had no idea."  
  
"Why should you? My personal life is no one's business but my own, and the select few I decide to share it with."  
  
We walk along is silence, and I do not fail to discern the look of disquiet that has settled over her. It is several minutes before she finds her voice again.  
  
"There were times, in my youth, when I was…ugly to you."  
  
"Yes. Two nights ago for example."  
  
She continues, unflagging. She seems desperate to unburden herself.  
  
"If I had known, I would have kept a civil tongue in my head. I apologize."  
  
"You seem to be getting a lot of practice in that particular art lately."  
  
I take her hand and give it a little squeeze. The gesture is starting to become commonplace. "It is of no consequence, Hermione. Put it from your mind. We have more important things to concentrate on now."  
  
The hours seem to pass all too quickly. In my Dungeon, she hands me two bottles of the golden elixir. I unstop one and pull it's essence into my nostrils. The odor in not unpleasant. I hand her the bottle and she replaces the cork.  
  
"When will you take it?"  
  
"Right before, I think. Firstly, we have no idea whether or not it is effective, and if it does prove to have some benefit, we have no guarantee that the effects will last for very long."  
  
"How might we gauge the lasting effects?"  
  
"Keep hurling curses at me until I wither, I suppose."  
  
From the uncomfortable look she gives me, I see that my gallows humor escapes her.  
  
"Everything will be fine, Hermione. Everything passes, even this."  
  
"Are you certain?"  
  
"I've made an educated guess. None of the ingredients in the potion should in anyway amplify the power of the curse. However, there is no certainty in these matters. You of all people should know that. I seem to remember you spending several hours as a housecat on one occasion."  
  
She's laughing again. Funny, I never thought of myself as particularly amusing. When her laughter dies down, I continue.  
  
"Are you quite sure you want to witness this, Hermione? It will be unpleasant."  
  
I am glad that this time she actually takes a moment to ponder the question before blurting out an admonition.  
  
"Would it help you to have me there?"  
  
I think of the humiliation of writhing in pain on the cold stones of Albus Dumbledore's floor. I can see myself clutching at my stomach, tearing at my hair, digging the heels of my hands into my burning eyes. I am mildly surprised when I answer her truthfully.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Her smile is gone, replaced by hard lipped determination. I would never have thought that such stony fortitude would suit her so well.  
  
"Then I will be there."  
  
With no prompting from me, she steps forward and into my arms. I find myself possessed of no resistance, and I hold her more tightly than I have before. The unfamiliar warmth is…pleasant. I like the feel of her touch, the smell of her hair, the gentle rise and fall of her breath as she leans against me. There is something almost intoxicating about it. When she pulls back to look at me, without dropping her hands from my waist, my mouth has suddenly gone dry.  
  
"Hermione…"  
  
The moment stretches out for eons, her expectant eyes boring into mine. In the background, I hear chimes striking the hour. I can't be altogether certain why my heart shudders and misses a beat, but if I had to guess, a combination of factors would be at work.  
  
"Hermione" I say as I release her from my grasp, "It's time." 


	11. Crucio

"Crucio."  
  
There is pain that can be anticipated, and pain that can be conquered. Pain that ebbs and flows like the tide, pain that aches, and pain that stabs. And then, there is the Cruciatus.  
  
Imagine an agony that you cannot steel yourself against. Imagine electrical currents traveling the length of your spine to light each and every neuron in your body afire. Imagine disembowelment, asphyxiation, shattered bones, crushed windpipes, eyes gouged from sockets, and nails ripped out from fingers one by one. Imagine these things all happening simultaneously, and you still would not be able to fathom the miserable suffering that is the Cruciatus. This insidious menace, this incalculable anguish is the ultimate betrayal of the flesh. First, you try to run, then to rise, and then merely to crawl, as if this pain was something you could flee from. Your only hope of refuge is the walled fortress of your mind. Even that last bastion eventually crumbles. Sometimes, the walls can be rebuilt…Sometimes…  
  
The stone floor of Dumbledore's office offers a welcome chill against my burning skin, but my cheekbones ache as they support the weight of my head. The breath has been driven from me, and I lie panting on the floor, disoriented by the view of table legs and office chairs from this unfamiliar vantage point. I feel as though I've been cut in two and for a moment, I'm sick with the dread of wondering if I have soiled myself. But the fog clears as the pain subsides, and I am assured that I have managed to maintain at least that small modicum of dignity. My throat is swollen tight, the bands of muscles clenched in a rictus that makes speech difficult. A wracking cough shakes me when I try to speak. I sigh and let my weight slump against the floor. The coughing fit passes.  
  
"Is that all you've got, old man?"  
  
I'm startled at the sound of my own voice, the twinge of unhealthy laughter that breaks loose along with my words.  
  
Dumbledore's voice seems muffled and indistinct, but I can just make out his words.  
  
"This has gone on long enough."  
  
Somehow I marshal the strength to raise myself, bracing my weight against my arms. Whether minutes or hours pass, I can't quite tell, but I find myself standing and facing my mentor. His eyes are tense with concern, his brow creased with worry. And beside him, stands a beautiful woman with a resolutely set jaw, her knees locked, every fiber of her being on edge. If you weren't really looking, the tearstains on her cheeks might altogether escape you.  
  
"Again, Albus."  
  
"Severus…"  
  
"Again!"  
  
"Crucio."  
  
I grit my teeth as my knees buckle, and come down hard on the unyielding floor. But this time, I'm not entirely down. I've been brought to my knees, but I fight to keep myself upright. A feminine voice, strained with distress, cuts through my efforts.  
  
"Severus, Please."  
  
I bring my fingers to my upper lip, wiping away the thin stream of blood dripping from my left nostril. My vision begins to swim. The last thing I see is Hermione diving towards me. I loose consciousness before my face makes contact with the floor.  
  
That I wake at all, is the first surprise. The second is the pleasant sensation of Hermione Granger smoothing her fingers through my hair, stroking it back from my brow. The blood under my nose has dried, but the smell is reconstituted as she dabs it away with a damp rag. I am laying upon a couch in my dungeon. She sits cross-legged behind me, her knees supporting my shoulders. She cradles my head in her lap. For a moment I wonder if I have indeed fled from sanity, quite unsure of the tenderness she seems content to bestow upon me. A line of gooseflesh springs up under her touch, and she seems to notice, because when I open my eyes, she is starring back at me.  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
An excellent question indeed. I take a moment to access my condition. I am tired, naturally, and my muscles ache as if from too much exertion. But for the most part, I feel remarkably well.  
  
"Better."  
  
"Would you like to sit up?"  
  
I'd rather spend eternity nestled in the safe haven of her arms.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
She slides her hands underneath my shoulders and propels me forward. The room blurs for a moment, but eventually my vision clears. Hermione continues to support me from behind.  
  
"It's not greasy at all." "Pardon?"  
  
"Your hair. It's quite nice, really."  
  
I am unable to suppress a chuckle. The sound seems to reassure her, and she rubs her hand in slow wide circles against my back.  
  
"Would you like something to drink?"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
She reaches behind her and lifts a water goblet from the table. She must have prepared it earlier in anticipation of my waking. The water tastes vaguely herbaceous.  
  
"I added something to it. Just a little restorative."  
  
It feels wonderful sliding down my parched throat. I take a moment to assess my condition, and find that I am rapidly regaining my strength. I search my mind, trying to fill in the missing pieces.  
  
"The last thing I remember is going down pretty hard. Am I to take it that the experiment was a disappointment?"  
  
Her warmth disappears from my back as she slides out from behind me, and onto the floor. She kneels in front of me, and grasps my hands in her own. It is altogether disconcerting to have her on her knees before me, her elbows resting on the tops of my legs. Her bright, vivid eyes betray no shadow of defeat.  
  
"Disappointment? Severus, Albus cursed you fourteen times."  
  
Her words wash over me, eliciting a case of mild shock. Fourteen times? The most I have ever been able to endure conscious was four. I have seen men driven mad by five. I am tired and sore, but I my body is sound. The implications are staggering. I find myself speechless.  
  
"We've done it, Severus."  
  
Her enthusiasm is palpable. My fingers brush her cheek a bit clumsily, but the affection is not lost on her.  
  
"We've made progress, Hermione. We still have miles to go."  
  
I speak cautiously to protect her hopes, but I can feel my strength returning so rapidly that I begin to share her hopes. By the smile she gives me, I think she knows it. Kneeling up, she captures my face between her hands and presses her lips to my forehead. She murmurs against my brow.  
  
"I was frightened for you, you know. It was truly awful."  
  
"We should have sold tickets to the student body."  
  
She nods in mock agreement.  
  
"With the proceeds we would have been able to move into a more spacious flat. Perhaps even take on a domestic."  
  
She takes my hands and helps me to my feet. I rest my palms on the sides of her shoulders.  
  
"I owe you my thanks, Hermione. I could not have done this thing without your help."  
  
I smooth down a lock of her hair that has gone astray. This closeness, this abundance of physical affection is nothing I am used to. Perhaps I cross the boundary of good manners. So be it. I can always blame my pain-addled brain later.  
  
"Thank you for allowing me to be there, Severus."  
  
I slide my fingers over the salty dried trails on her cheeks.  
  
"You have been crying." "I think the only thing worse than witnessing it, would have been being kept in the dark."  
  
"I admire you fortitude, my dear."  
  
"Someone had to make sure Professor Dumbledore wasn't being too easy on you."  
  
Her lips twist into a lopsided grin. Lips that were pressed to my skin only a moment ago.  
  
"Speaking of Albus. I think perhaps I should pop in and give him the bad news of my undamaged health. I will not be long."  
  
Hermione nods as I stride towards the fireplace. With a handful of floo powder, I'm standing in Dumbledore's office. He looks up from his desk, and the gravity of his expression lightens.  
  
"Up so soon, Severus? This IS good news. How do you feel?"  
  
"Like house elves are dancing on my skull. But it's quite an improvement. The last time I was fairly certain that the dancing feet belonged to thestrals." "Congratulations, my boy. You've finally done it."  
  
Albus rises from his desk and before I can react, He has wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into an embrace. I let in continue for less than five seconds before brushing him away.  
  
"Have you gone daft, Albus? It's not as if I've…we've banished the ill-effects entirely. I seem to remember a great deal of unpleasantness."  
  
That damned twinkle. It's back with a vengeance.  
  
"Be modest all you like, Severus. By all rights you should be dead or mad with pain. And yet here you are, with the strength to insult and push away all shreds of human kindness. I'd say your little elixir has quite a future."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
I grow weary of his praise. I have never been able to handle it in more than small doses. I turn to the furnace.  
  
"How is Hermione?"  
  
I step back from the fire grate.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"She was quite concerned. She may hide her emotions nearly as well as you, Severus, but it's obvious that you two are not quite as ill-suited as you first suspected."  
  
I snort and give him my back as I toss the powder into the fireplace.  
  
"I keep hearing of your legendary wisdom, Albus, but every time we speak you seem to prove your admirers wrong."  
  
When I return to my dungeons, Hermione is reading a dry treatise on the magical nature of bowtruckles. She has cleaned the tears from her eyes, and swept her hair back into a loose, frizzy bun.  
  
"Are you ready to depart, my dear?"  
  
"Perhaps we could drop by the kitchens first? I'm famished."  
  
The answering rumble in my stomach informs me that I share her plight.  
"No. I think we deserve a reward for all our labors. Let's have a meal in Hogsmeade."  
  
Apparently the notion is agreeable to her, because she smiles and gathers her things.  
  
While "fine dining" may not be the norm in Hogsmeade, we have no problems procuring a decent meal. The menu is extensive, perhaps owing to the fact that fresh ingredients might be materialized at the drop of a wand. I long to try to veal picata but I decide to refrain from offending her tender sensibilities. Funny she can take notes as I writhe in affliction on the floor, but the thought of consuming an adolescent cow makes her queasy. Instead, I sample the salmon on the assumption that it is the least cuddly menu item. Thankfully, it also turns out to be quite good. As we dine, sitting across from each other, engaging in companionable conversation, I feel a steady warmth growing in my chest. I should be babbling in incoherent agony right now, miserable and alone. Instead I find myself enjoying a celebration dinner with the charming partner of my grand achievement. How funny, the twisting paths life leads us down.  
  
"You really could have ordered the veal. I wouldn't begrudge you that, on this of all nights."  
  
I laugh and shake my head.  
  
"Oh no. Not after the lecture you gave me last time. You managed to take a mouth-watering delicacy and turn it into a crime against everything good and holy. Your students are lucky you don't teach kitchen witchery. They'd be afraid to complete their assignments."  
  
"In other words, my students would feel just the same as yours feel."  
  
I finish the last bite of my salmon.  
  
"Precisely. You don't want them to think I'm rubbing off on you, do you?"  
  
When the dishes have been cleared, and the dessert cart wheeled around, it is decided that one dessert is called for; two would be too much. I would prefer the tiramisu, and her the cobbler, but we can both settle for the chocolate cake. Funny, the way that compromises begin to feel less and less like compromises and more and more like daily life.  
  
The cake disappears quickly, with one lone morsel resting on the plate between our forks.  
  
"That last piece is yours, Hermione."  
  
"No, I rather think it belongs to you. All that torture…you need it more than I do. Besides, I couldn't possibly eat another bite."  
  
I put down my fork and she pops it into her mouth.  
  
"Apparently, all things are possible."  
  
I meant the passing comment as a humorous quip, but she reaches across the table and takes hold of my hand.  
  
"I've just watched a man recover from the Cruciatus in mere hours. I'm having a lovely dinner with the only professor I ever feared in all my years as a student, and he ordered the salmon just to please me. Yes, apparently all things are possible."  
  
The look of serene happiness on her face stirs my heart. If only all things truly were possible.  
  
"I think perhaps the wine is making you wax poetic, my dear. How long until you maul the nearest single male of your own age?"  
  
I can't let go of the memory quite yet. Perhaps I should be grateful. It serves to keep me from imagining futile possibilities beyond my reach. Still, I'm much to pleased with the day to be truly angry.  
  
"I'll make it up to you, one day."  
  
"Hmmm? And just how do you propose to do that?"  
  
"I don't know. If I did, I would have done it already."  
  
I give her a smile to reassure her that we are still on good terms. She looks grateful and gives my hand a little squeeze. It surprises me. I thought for certain she would have released it by now.  
  
"Shall we be getting home?"  
  
"It's so lovely out. Are you up for a walk?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
I pull her chair back from the table and help her from the table. As we leave the restaurant, we are pursued by several pairs of eyes. They could stare for eternity and still never figure us out.  
  
The night does indeed prove quite temperate, and we find ourselves enjoying a leisurely stroll. The breeze sets my cape to billowing, and Hermione's hair, loose now from the attempted bun, fans out about her shoulders. There is no trace of awkwardness in our silence. We have grown accustomed to each other. I contemplate offering her my arm as we promenade though the alley of shops, and am about to when a man steps into our path.  
  
"Flowers for the lady, Sir?"  
  
He holds out a nosegay of roses. Hermione waves him away.  
  
"No Thank you."  
  
I almost dig into my pocket and pull out a coin, but the notion of flowers seems ridiculous. The man nods and we pass him. We're just a few steps from him, when I hear him mutter menacingly.  
  
"Perhaps she'll like this better."  
  
"Run!"  
  
I shove Hermione roughly from me, and turn, whipping my wand from my cloak.  
  
"Severus!"  
  
She is reluctant to leave my side, but my tone brooks no argument. The man in front of me is still focused on the back of Hermione's head as she runs across the uneven stones. I level my wand at his chest.  
  
"Expelliarmus!  
  
He holds tight, but his wand flies from his hand and clatters on the cobblestones. As he dives for it, his sleeve rides up, and can just make out the outline of the dark mark. I bring my foot down hard upon his wand, cracking it in half. Angered, he rises and swings his hand at my jaw. I sidestep him, and I'm about to throw a punch myself when I hear a scream followed by a thud. My heart plummets to my stomach. Several yards away, Hermione has fallen to the ground. I know the dangers in turning one's back on an opponent, but I have no choice. I set off for Hermione at a dead run. Behind me, I hear the gathering of a great wind, and my skin prickles.. Reaching Hermione, I fling my self atop her body, and grip her close as she hisses in pain. There is a vibrant flash of green as we apparate from the street. 


	12. A Pity

When attempted under calm, peaceful conditions, apparition is a wonderfully smooth way to travel; if the practitioner is unskilled, it can be quite dangerous. Indeed, it can even prove fatal. As the green light flashes around us, and fear stabs deep into my heart, I strive for the focus I need. I feel Hermione's body crumple beneath me, and I wince with worry. A deafening wind crashes around us as that sickening moment of dimensional jump hits me in the pit of my stomach.  
We land hard on the living room floor, my shoulder catching a table leg and sending a tray clattering off across the room. I clutch Hermione's head protectively, turning her face to my chest as we skid across the carpet. In a heartbeat, I'm on my feet, and I drag her unceremoniously to a dark corner. There is a burning need in me to know that she's alright, but I don't have the luxury of time to assess her injuries just yet. I need to ascertain if we've been followed.  
"Don't move until I return. If I'm not back in five minutes, I'd say transfiguration would be your best chance of escape. "  
If she watches me with worry as I leave her, the dark shadows make it impossible to tell. If they are going to attack us here, they'll hit any minute, and I need to have my wits about me. Warding the doors and windows, I pace through the house, finding empty silence at every turn. It feels like eternity, but in three minutes I'm certain that they've left off for tonight. Apparently they have thought better than to pursue us into our burrow. Perhaps they know the danger in running a wounded beast to ground. With our safety assured, I hurry back to Hermione.  
Her eyes widen in nervous anticipation as I turn the corner, but her anxious look quickly fades into relief. Her hair is a tangled mess, her shirt is torn at the hem, and her forehead is lightly abraded from the carpet. Looking down at her folded legs, I notice an angry red bruise blooming on her ankle.  
"Can you walk?"  
"I'm not certain."  
I offer her my hand and she rises. She attempts to put weight on her ankle, but pulls up lame. I gently bring her arm across my shoulder and cinch her waist, helping her to the couch. Once she is seated, I pull over an ottoman and sit facing her.  
"Here."  
I indicate the ottoman and she raises her ankle, careful to avoid hitting it on the arm of the couch. I rest her heel on the point of my knee and deftly remove her shoe.  
"This will hurt."  
She is looking over her shoulder with concern, as I peel her sock off the swollen flesh.  
"Do you think they'll be back tonight?"  
"No. They've lost the element of surprise, and we're well protected here."  
"That flash of green light. Was that the Av..."  
"I would assume so.  
"They're really trying to kill me, aren't they?"  
It is an awfully dense question from such a bright girl.  
"Yes, Hermione. Hence this arrangement. Or were you secretly marrying for love?"  
"You could have been killed."  
When she stares down at me her gaze is desolate. She looks shaken to the core. I find myself looking away.  
"That was one possible outcome."  
As I palpitate the flesh of her ankle, I notice tears welling up in her eyes.  
"Come now, it's merely sprained."  
I accio a bottle of healing salve and proceed to gingerly work the liniment into her damaged flesh. I can feel the swelling abate under my hands.  
"You could have been killed, and it would have been my fault."  
"It would have been my fault. I am the one assigned to protect YOU after all."  
Her misplaced guilt feels suspiciously like pity. I cannot tolerate having the banner of martyrdom hoisted upon me.  
"But if it wasn't for me, you'd be back at Hogwart's..."  
"How very Gryffindor of you, my dear. You can wallow in all the self indulgent guilt you'd like, but first take a moment to ascertain just how rewarding a life you have drawn me away from."  
Her ankle has healed nicely, and I lean in close to her, brushing her hair back from her wounded forehead. I notice that she won't meet my gaze, but she doesn't draw away from my fingers either. I begin to rub the salve into the mild abrasion.  
"For Instance, tonight I would have spent my evening grading essays from the thrilling literary minds of Hufflepuff, and dicing all manner of slimy ingredients for my stores, with only a bottle of fire whiskey to keep me company. So before you go bemoaning the calamity you've heaped upon me, you'd do well to consider just what changes you have effected in my life."  
The skin of her forehead knits smoothly under my fingertips. I study my handiwork closely, and marvel at the softness of her skin that so often furrows into worry lines. I already had those lines too, when I was her age. For all our differences… I cannot be altogether certain what compels me, whether it is my intention to comfort or caress, but in a heartbeat I've closed the gap between us and pressed my lips to her healed brow. She had done no less to me this afternoon. Surely, I have done nothing inappropriate if I offer such a chaste kiss to my wife.  
"Good as new."  
And then reality comes rushing back to me, and I'm hit with the horror of my ill-reasoned actions. What a fool she must think me. What a fool I know myself to be, playing at tenderness with a girl half my age and forced into this situation by a cruel twist of fate. She would not be here if it were not for the fact that rough men wish her dead. I jerk abruptly to my feet.  
  
"I wouldn't recommend running from death eaters, but you should be able to walk now."  
  
I can feel the muscles between my shoulder blades pinch as my whole body tenses. I want to flee the room and have just a few blessed moments to myself. I've half turned my back on her when I feel her hand brush against mine and grasp at my fingers.  
  
"Will you help me, please?"  
  
How can I refuse such an innocent request? How can I tell her that touching her has gone from awkward, to comfortable, to down right excruciating? I grasp her forearm firmly and help her to her feet. She leans against my side in a companionable gesture that my naive flesh mistakes for affection. I tighten my grip on her waist as she attempts a few cursory steps.  
  
"You seem fine."  
  
The words resound harshly in my ears, but she does not seem to notice.  
  
"It's sore still, but much better."  
  
Just as I'm about to press her away, she stumbles, and I reflexively pull her close in an effort to steady her. She lets out a startled little gasp, and clutches at the front of my robe. I want to shove her from me, to clear my head, but instead I just stand there, looking down at her, holding her all together too tightly against my chest. She lays her palm aside my face and strokes her finger across my cheekbone.  
  
"Have I ever really thanked you for protecting me?"  
  
I loosen my grip on her waist, allowing her to settle her weight back down to her feet. When I am certain that she will not lose her footing, I brush her fingers away from my face.  
  
"You should be more careful, Hermione, lest your carelessness leads to unpleasant consequences."  
  
I can't look at her a moment longer. I retreat into the kitchen and pull a bottle of fire whiskey and a tumbler from the cupboard. It's been so long since I've had drink, I think as I pour myself a neat measure. They won't be back tonight. She's safe. I can have one. Just one. With my back to the door, I bring the glass to my lips and welcome the harsh burn as the liquor travels down my throat. I take another gulp and hope it mends my frayed nerves. I'm contemplating a second drink when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I stiffen under her touch, and I know she feels it too because she starts to knead the muscles at my neck.  
  
"I'm quite fine, Ms. Granger. Your attentions are misplaced."  
  
She stops her ministrations and sighs. I feel her hands leave me, and I ache with relief as I hear her footsteps walking away from me. But the footfalls pause and wait at the door. I can't see her from my position and I find myself glad of the fact.  
  
"Why won't you leave me be?"  
  
"Severus…Come to bed."  
  
For a moment, I'm not certain I've heard her correctly. It is possible that the fire whiskey is already taking effect and playing tricks on me. When I finally face her, I glimpse her concerned face, her out stretched hand, and I know I have heard her correctly. It's my perversion of her words that twists their meaning. Setting the bottle aside, I tentatively accept her proffered hand and allow her to lead me to my room like a doddering old man taken home from the tavern by his daughter. When we have entered my room, I stop, but she does not relinquish my hand. When My feet stay rooted to the floor, she gives me a little tug towards her room. My thoughts usually run so free and untrammeled; now I feel as though they were quicksand, slowly dragging me down into murky misunderstandings. Surely, she is not inviting me into her quarters. I bark out a laugh, but she continues to regard me placidly. No, expectantly. Standing on the threshold to her room, she repeats her earlier request.  
  
"Come to bed."  
  
And this time, I understand what she means. I'm paralyzed and so very out of practice. I have forgotten how to begin, if not by pressing sweaty coins into a greedy palm. No, I have not forgotten, I've just never known. I've never needed to know. How much easier it is to pay a woman to hide her disdain for an hour, than to inspire genuine desire. I look down upon her softly freckled face, and I search her countenance for clues. She does not love me. The notion is as absurd as Hagrid's menagerie. Something's not right.  
  
As I stand before her, dumb and mute, she reaches up and twines her fingers in my hair. She presses her lips to mine in a delicate kiss. I am embarrassed to say, I find myself shaking. My lips are pinched, offering a wall of resistance against her own. She purses her own, and continues to fan soft, dry kisses over my face. With a bit more gentle coaxing from her, I find my mouth softening, opening slightly to her attentions. It is electrifying to feel her tongue brush my own. I feel desire building in the pit of my stomach, and hear a groan I can only surmise is my own. She tugs at my hand, and I'm over the threshold.  
  
"Hermione…"  
  
"Shhhhhh…", she says, quieting me with another kiss. Slowly, pace by pace, she leads me to the bed. Her lithe form reclines upon the star kissed comforter, and she beckons me to join her. Why? Why now? What strange affliction is she suffering that compels her to lead me to her bed? Our marriage is a sham, after all. She can't want me here.  
  
Without consciously moving, I find myself atop her, staring down at her lovely face.  
  
"Please…"  
  
My voice sounds like a whimper, and I am ashamed of my lack of decision.  
  
"Please, Severus."  
  
She echoes my words with a different intonation. It is an invitation. She wants me. But no, that's impossible. Isn't it?  
  
I can't stand the idea of stripping nude before her, all pale flesh vulnerable to derision. Instead I remain hidden in the soft armor of my robes. She grasps my hand and guides it between her legs. I fight the urge to recoil as if burned. Millimeter by millimeter I allow my hand to advance, stopping when my fingers brush warm, dry cotton. Desire floods me, slick and hot as I brush aside her panties and gaze at her sex. I am overwhelmed with the feeling, and I numbly fumble with the buttons of my trousers. Another pair of hands join me, offering their help. I demure and allow her to pull me free of the black woolen fabric. A moment later, I am sheathed inside her.  
  
It feels like slipping into heaven. Like dying in your sleep. Like drowning in a lukewarm bath. It feels like being accepted. I stay like that a long time, staring down at her still clothed chest, unable to meet her gaze. Because as wonderful as it feels, as badly as I want to make love to her all night and fall asleep spent and contented, I know something is not right. I allow myself one thrust, and the amazing sensation travels the length of my spine. Once more I gently press into her, and she sighs softly, urging me on. When I finally look up to her face, I press my lips to hers and explore her mouth. In some ways, this kiss is more intimate than the commingling of our bodies. I have had far more women that I have had kisses. I want to hold her and rut her. I want to whisper her name, and hear her scream mine as I bring her to climax. But something's wrong, and I have to know. I stroke the sides of her face, and press my lips to hers once more. And then, inwardly wincing, I whisper:  
  
"Legilimens."  
  
Many of the things I see are expected: Affectionate fumblings with the Weasley boy, awkward kisses, and even the first blossom of their shared love. I can feel her grief at his passing, her initial horror at the proposal of our wedding, and her regret over the fellow in the bar. Her worry over my condition today, her triumph at out success, and yes, even the affection as she held my hand over dinner. But then, it hits me like a slap across the face, and I fear I'm going to be sick. Because as I see the nights events play out, as I relive the attack and out safe retreat through her eyes, one emotion overwhelms me. She lays a hand on my back, and leads me from the kitchen, and all the while, one overriding feeling grips her heart: Obligation. She feels she owes me for saving her life, and this is the way she thinks to repay me. Not because I inspire love or passion. Because I inspire pity.  
  
Needless to say, I am unable to finish. I grow soft and withdraw from her hastily, humiliation burning a hole in my chest. Hermione, startled, grips my forearms, and looks up and me, questioningly.  
  
"Severus, what's wrong?"  
  
I shake her hands roughly from me, as I button up my trousers. I fight back the urge to wretch. My countenance must be fearsome, because I can see her recoil as I hiss at her:  
  
"You owe me nothing!"  
  
I gain my feet and put some space between us, shaking with rage and humiliation.  
  
"Severus?"  
  
"I am no one's pity fuck!"  
  
Tears have started to well in her eyes, but I find they only serve to increase the mortification I feel.  
  
"I didn't think…"  
  
Unable to stand her sputtering denials, I rush at her, clasping her head hard between my bony fingers. Her eyes are wide and frightened as she meets my gaze. I make no effort to hide the venom in my voice.  
  
"You would do well to remember who you are dealing with, Ms. Granger. I know very well, what you were thinking!"  
  
I thrust her none too gently from me and bolt for the door, slamming it shut behind me. I ward it closed as I storm through the house, wanting to put as much ground between us as possible. I can hear her small fists banging on my bedroom door, and her bewildered voice calling my name. After I cast a silencing charm, I hear nothing else but the dull rush of blood pounding in my head. After my third fire whiskey I feel nothing but the ache of my wounded pride. 


	13. Morning After

I wake under the harsh light of dawn filtering in from the kitchen window. I peel my face up from the plasticized table cloth, and wipe a gob of spit from the corner of my mouth. The sour reek of whiskey emanates from my lips, and I can feel greasy strands of hair plastered to the sides of my face. Ah yes, Casanova. You are indeed every young girl's fantasy. It's a wonder they don't all lead you to bed with soft whispers and simpering kisses.  
I rub my forehead, trying to coax away the throbbing pulse that assaults my temples. The bottle beside me, almost full when I began, is down to the dregs. A new record I think, even for me. Bravo Severus, bravo. I glance over my shoulder towards the living room and our respective chambers. The house is quiet as a crypt. I wonder if she is still trapped in her room by the wards I placed upon her door last night. I thrust them up in a hurry, sloppily almost. She could have worked her way through them in under an hour. But why try? What would there be to gain? Besides another chance to offer awkward, obligation sex as barter for services rendered. I hoist myself from the table and drag my feet to my room.  
Her chamber is silent, and I am glad that she makes no attempt to harangue me with musical lies of my "misunderstanding". I step onto the cool tiles of my bathroom, and triple ward the door. I'll not let my guard down again. I'll not be caught in a vulnerable position. Of course if I suffer heart attack or stroke while imbibing in my morning shower I'll be beyond help. But somehow, the idea of cracking skull against porcelain and quietly bleeding away doesn't seem particularly upsetting. I unfasten my jacket and hang it on the coat rack. When I unbutton my trousers, the stale, humid smell of sex wafts up to assault my nostrils. I wretch and vacate the contents of my stomach into the toilet.  
Entering the shower, I dial the water up as hot as it goes, and brace myself as the steaming heat stings my flesh. Coarse soap, and a rough washcloth further help to purge my body of the remnants of last night's disastrous encounter. When my skin feels raw, I finally leave the shower. Hermione will be teaching classes in a few hours and I can have some time away from her to speak with Albus. To sort things out. To rethink our little arrangement. And then, my stomach clenches up again as I realize, that today is Saturday. I towel myself off roughly and dress as I contemplate excuses. There are ingredients I must tend too- no. She might offer to help me and then I'd be trapped with her again. I have an errand in town - no. I cannot risk leaving her in the flat alone. When I exit the bathroom, half-formulated pretexts shouting in my head, I find Hermione Granger seated on the edge of my bed. Before she has a chance to speak I bark at her:  
"I need to go to Hogwarts and you will accompany me!"  
She doesn't speak, but instead sits gazing at me with her wide doe eyes, her head tilted slightly to the left. I'd like to ring her neck. And yet, even after what she has done, what she has reduced me to, I can't help myself from gazing at the way the sunlight plays across her tousled hair. After what seems like eons, she speaks.  
"You've been drinking."  
She says it calmly, placidly, with a hint of sadness in her voice. Or pity. Always pity. Damn her and her pity.  
"And you've been spreading your legs at the drop of a hat for anyone who'll have you."  
She nods her head softly, her eyes falling to the floor in what I can only assume is shame. When she speaks, her voice is just above a whisper.  
"It appears I made a mistake last night."  
"You always were a fast learner, Granger."  
"Snape."  
I am so used to hearing my given name on her lips, that my familial title seems awkward.  
"What?"  
"It's not Granger any longer. It's Snape."  
I have to fight back the urge to strike her hard across those mocking lips, and kiss the blood from the corners.  
"It most certainly is not," I hiss at her. "Now get yourself together and come with me."  
  
I can't bear the thought of embracing her long enough to apparate to the gates of Hogwarts, so we walk the distance at a good clip. Several times I find her falling behind me, and have to grit my teeth and hold my stride in check. When we finally reach the gates and hurtle through, I realize that I am winded. Damn my old body. I look back at Hermione's flushed cheek, an take a bitter satisfaction in the fact that she is panting too.  
  
Inside the hallowed halls, I elicit several startled gasps from the more timid students unlucky enough to cross my path. That will teach them to feel safe on weekends. Now that we are in the relative safety of Hogwarts' grounds, I am no longer concerned with her keeping up my pace. I can hear her doubling her steps to keep up with me, and still failing miserably. Making a beeline for Minerva's quarters, I bang loudly on her door. The door swings open just as an out of breath Hermione stops at my heel. A startled Minerva moves out of the way as I push Hermione over the threshold of her room.  
  
"I have pressing business to attend to. You will watch her until the headmaster or I come to collect her." Minerva is too flummoxed to mount a reply, but apparently Hermione is not.  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"My dealings are none of your concern."  
  
Minerva's eyes widen at the ice in my voice "Severus…"  
  
"Good day, Minerva."  
  
I leave her gaping like a trout as I set off for the Headmaster's office. No doubt she'll coax horror stories out of Hermione of how I stick her with hot pins, and make her drink vinegar in place of wine. So be it. She can tell Minerva, anything she'd like. I just want this whole bloody mess to be over.  
  
I enter the Headmaster's office in such a state of hurried agitation that I find it difficult to take the chair that is offered to me. I nearly throw the bowl of lemon drops at his bloody head.  
  
"What is troubling you, my boy?"  
  
"I warned you you needed a better man, Albus, and I was right. I wish to be rid of her."  
  
If he is surprised, he keeps his features admirably passive. If you asked him, he'd say I'd learned that same trick from him.  
  
"I see. And what has led you to this conclusion?"  
  
"That's not important, Albus, what IS…"  
  
His wizened old voice interjects, "I would say that the reason for your sudden change of heart and obviously agitated state was important indeed, Severus."  
  
"I find myself unable to be in the same room with her."  
  
"What has brought about this condition."  
  
"Nothing. Everything. This was a terrible idea from the beginning, Albus. I TOLD you to send Kingsley. I TOLD you…"  
  
"Has she rejected your advances, my boy?"  
  
I want to kill him for the kindness coloring his tone. If it was pity in his voice, I think I would have.  
  
"No, Albus. In fact, quite the opposite. She sought to repay my services with…services of her own."  
  
The silence in that office can be deafening. I've heard it many times before, and I've no doubt I'll hear it again.  
  
"Severus, you know I have no compunctions about instructors becoming involved with their peers. The fact that you and Hermione are already married is…"  
  
"You don't understand, old man. I allowed myself to mistake a vulnerable girl's offer for something…genuine."  
  
"I see. Have you asked her how she feels about…"  
  
"I don't NEED to ask her, Albus. I could see."  
  
"Ah."  
  
The humiliation burns my cheeks almost enough to rouse my sallow complexion. I am unable to meet those sparkling eyes as he continues.  
  
"Perhaps, Severus, you are only able to see what you are prepared to see What you EXPECT to see."  
  
"I will not continue to belabor the point. What is to be done, Albus?"  
  
"You will return with her to your flat and discuss your problems like the rational adults I know you are both capable of being."  
  
"Surely, there is someone else."  
  
"No one as competent as you, my boy."  
  
"I can't go back to that house with her."  
  
"I've never known you to flinch from a difficult task before, Severus. You can and you will."  
  
I am still angry and humiliated. I can still taste the bile churning in my stomach, and feel the prickly fingers of irritation a the back of my neck.  
  
"Why does every visit with you make me feel like Sisyphus pushing his boulder up a mountain?" "Because you're the only one I've ever found who never stops pushing."  
  
Knowing that I have nothing more to gain by staying, I rise to take my leave.  
  
"I'll start several cauldrons of the Cruciatus elixir to brewing. I should have quite a stockpile for you by the new moon."  
  
He nods to me, and I turn my back on him as I make for the door, but his voice stops me.  
  
"Severus…"  
  
My tone is brassy with annoyance: "Yes, Albus?"  
  
"I know what this has cost you, my boy. And I am truly sorry."  
  
"Perhaps next time, you might see your way to giving me a smaller rock to push?"  
  
"When this war is over, I promise to never give you another rock again."  
  
"Why would I need a rock? When this war is over, we both know I'll be pushing up daisies."  
  
If he has an answer, he tells it to any empty room.  
  
When I return to collect Hermione from Minerva's quarters, I find her gone. If she has told Minerva anything, the old witch is better at hiding it than I would suspect. She directs me outside, and I find myself cursing as my feet sink into the muck of the wet earth.  
  
I cast a silencing charm around the sucking mud so it does not give away my approach. When I finally spot her, Hermione is stretched out with her back on the grass, her side pressed up against the flank of a Hippogriff. The creature coos as she gently preens its feathers. I let my shadow across her face alert her to my presence.  
  
"I wouldn't have left you with Minerva if I knew she's let you run about without protection."  
  
"I've got a full grown Hippogriff at my side. I assume she figured I'd be ok."  
  
"The awesome forces of the Dark Lord versus an overgrown pigeon. Seems like a very evenly matched fight."  
  
She ignores the sarcasm in my voice, and continues to stare up at the clouds.  
"Why did you come here today?"  
  
"To ask the headmaster to find you another protector."  
  
"And?"  
  
"He refused."  
  
"Till death do us part, it seems."  
  
"When you say it like that, you start to give me ideas, Ms. Granger."  
  
She rises to her feet, and the Hippogriff follows suit. She gives it an affection slap on the rump and it takes off at a gallop. We watch in silence as the creature launches into the air and takes flight.  
  
"Severus, I want you to know…what happened last night…"  
  
"Nothing of any consequence happened last night, Ms. Granger."  
  
She dusts off her slacks and falls into step beside me as I make for the gates of Hogwarts.  
  
"We should have ridden Caliban back home. I'm worn out from our…brisk…walk."  
  
I hold the gate open for her and close it with a defined "click." For a moment I just stand there, staring at her lovely features, fighting a battle inside my chest. I've always sought knowledge and wisdom in all things. I've always believed that all knowledge is worth having. But as I stand there looking at the woman who was pinned beneath me just the night before, I find myself wishing that I had never whispered that charm and looked into the depths of her soft brown eyes. I find myself wishing for a bit of happiness, even if it was as false as whores' kisses.  
  
"We don't have to walk, Ms. Granger."  
  
I open my cloak to her, and offer her my hand. As she wraps her arms tightly around me in anticipation of apparition, as my heart begins to beat faster even thought I know the truth, as I speak the words and feel the world fall away under my feet, the last thing I hear is, "It's not Granger. It's Snape." 


	14. Your Presence is Requested

The first day after the incident of our disastrous fornications, I ignore her. The second day I insult her housekeeping skills, and she responds with a very colorful gesture that I can only assume in muggle in origin. On the third day, I began brewing another batch of Cruciatus elixir and I flinch when her hand casually brushes mine.

"Let me help you, Severus."

I jerk violently away from her, and dump a full cup of geranium petals into the cauldron. The potion congeals into a useless jelly.

"Watch your hands, you stupid girl!"

She sighs and gathers her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck.

"Why don't you let me clean this up, and start another batch."

"That was my FULL supply of geranium petals. They don't grow on trees, you know."

"No, Severus, they grow on FLOWERS. Why don't you sit down and have a glass of wine, and relax, and I'll…"

"I prefer to work alone."

Her voice is rising in pitch to match my own.

"I know you do. You prefer to work alone, to live alone, to BE ALONE in your dark, slimy dungeon, but you're stuck with me until this whole bloody war is over! Now, you can throw a fuss and be a git, and make things difficult, or you can get it through that thick skull of yours that having an extra pair of hands around might actually speed along the process and get me out of your greasy hair even faster."

She's flushed now, righteous in her anger, her slender fingers leached of blood as she grips the rim of my cauldron. I clutch the opposing edge of the cauldron, and lean down, nose to nose with her.

"How dare you speak to me with such impertinence, you ungrateful prat!"

"Don't speak to me as if I was still your student."

My ire is up now, and it takes everything I have to keep from hexing her into the next week. I breath deeply in an effort to calm myself, but am less than successful.

"I think it would be best, Ms. Granger…"

"SNAPE! It's Snape! Can't you keep one bloody word straight! If I have to play make-believe with you, you will at least call me by the correct name!"

This mocking of my family name is just to much to bear. I advance on her, and the look in my eye must be quite fierce, because she begins to back away from me."

"I can think of MANY correct names for what you are Ms. Granger, but Snape is not one of them."

"Such as?"

Her lip juts out defiantly, even as she continues to retreat from my advancing footfalls. Very well, if she wants to bait me…

"Trollop, for one."

Another step.

"Know-it-all"

She continues to recoil.

"Nuisance."

She finds her back pressed neatly against the wall, with no avenue of escape. I do not halt my forward progress. I only stop when I almost touching her, my nose just inches away from hers.

"Shall I go on, Ms. Granger?"

There are angry tears in her eyes, and the mixture of feelings they evoke in me is troubling. I find her angry flush exhilarating, and yet I hate myself for the wounded look in her eyes. I remember what it felt like, those few precious seconds I was inside her, and I want to take her right there, up against the wall. And would it be so terrible? Just because she doesn't lust after me? She IS willing after all. Shouldn't that be enough? I run a finger down the side of her face, and she shivers in what, I suppose, is fear. Is it really all that bad? Whether they fuck you out of a sense of duty, or a desire for the money in your pocketbook, is it all that different? I want to kiss the tears streaming down her face, and explore the warm geography of her mouth. But I remember the sickening clenching of my stomach as I saw the obligation in her eyes, and my desire subsides. It is quickly replaced by self loathing.

"You are lucky, Ms. Granger, that I am a scrupulous man."

Before she can voice a response, there is a fluttering at the window. Both our heads swivel round to stare at the downy brown owl perched on the windowsill. I remove myself from her presence and retrieve the parchment from our avian visitor. Unfurling it, I read Dumbledore's excruciatingly neat handwriting. Mine has always been a rough scrawl, but he has had hundreds of years to perfect his penmanship. The prettiness of the writing does not make the contents of the letter any more palatable:

Dear Severus, I would be most grateful if you and Hermione would chaperone the Yule Ball this coming weekend. My thanks in advance, Albus

I sigh and crumble the paper into the waste bin.

"What does it say?"

"Albus has asked us to chaperone the Yule Ball. Though if he thinks I'll actually agree to such a horrendous task, he is sorely mistaken."

"I chaperoned last year, and it's really not all that bad. Think of it as an opportunity for a few free drinks."

"And give you the occasion for a drunken shag with some muscled Quidditch player?"

"Do you think there's any chance I could go the day without hearing another hateful word from you?"

"Of course." She looks mildly surprised at my response. "You could stay in your room for the rest of the day."

And with that, she turns on her heel and stalks off. Taking up a quill and parchment, I draft a quick letter to Dumbledore:

Albus, No.  
Sincerely, S. Snape

I give the bird the note and send him flying.

After cleaning out the jellied potion and starting on a new base, I spend the next few hours cataloging my stores. I know exactly what's there, of course, but the exercise gives me an excuse to refrain from any further conversation with Hermione who has secreted herself in her room. I am surprised when the owl returns with a second message:

Severus, Please forgive any confusion that may have arisen in my last letter. I was not asking. Sincerely, Albus

I mutter curses as I shred his letter into bits. Damn him and his Yule Balls. I don't bother with a response to the merry old bastard. Instead I march through my room and rap sharply on Hermione's door. She shouts to me through the wall like a bloody teenager.

"What?"

"Apparently we will be chaperoning this ridiculous party after all."

I am a bit caught off guard as her door swings open. She's changed into a nightdress, and I must admit she does look rather fetching in the frothy bit of lace.

"He wasn't asking, was he?"

"No."

"When he asked you to watch after me, he wasn't ASKING then either, was he?"

I sigh and meet her level gaze.

"Does it matter, Hermione?"

"It matters to me."

She looks small and tired. I am momentarily ashamed at my earlier behavior.

"Yes, Hermione, then he truly WAS asking. I was given the opportunity to refuse."

"I see."

The silence hangs between us as she shuffles her feet. I look for a suitably bland topic to break the silence.

"Do you have suitable attire for this weekend?"

"I do."

"Excellent. Then, I will bid you goodnight, Ms. Gra…Hermione."

She gives me the faintest smile and she pulls her door shut.

"Goodnight, Severus."

I remove my frockcoat and hang it in my armoire. I finger the silky green shirt that I wore to my mummery of a wedding, and fight the urge to light it afire and send the flaming remnants to that meddlesome old bat. Damn him and his cheerful celebrations. Damn him, and his orders posed as requests. Damn him for even putting me in the same room with Hermione Snape nee Granger. Happy Fucking Holidays. 


	15. A Second Look

The first Yule Ball I attended found me asking a bookish Gryffindor to dance, and being greeted with an inordinate amount of laughter. I ended the evening with my face in the dirt, while some of her housemates introduced me to a little holiday game that involved eating rotten oranges and a good quantity of mud. The next year, I snuck away to the library's restricted section. When the dancing had begun, Albus came looking for me and attempted to escort me back to the festivities. When I showed him the welts some of my classmates had given me, he closed the door and left me to my reading. The third year, he stopped looking for me.

Nothing is quite equal to the unparalleled torture of chaperoning the raging hormones and love-addled minds of pubescent minors. I have successfully avoided this task for many years , but it comes as no surprise that the wily old bastard would demand it of me now. Make no mistake, his demands come cloaked in all sorts of friendly, imploring words, but they are demands none-the-less. Whether he is trying to inject a bit of holiday spirit into what, he must imagine, is Hermione's dreadfully unpleasant situation or merely punishing me for being the cause of said dreadfully unpleasant situation, I have no idea. But as I dress for the evening, I mutter obscenities under my breath.

Hermione, Locked in her room for what seems like ages now, puts the finishing touches on her attire. She was positively giddy this morning. It is a startling reminder of just how young she truly is, even if she manages to hide it 364 days of the year. I tug the buttons of my frock coat straight, and give her door a sharp rap.

"Aren't you ready yet?"

"In just a moment!" She calls through the wall.

I sit on the edge of the bed and await her appearance. The minutes drag on.

"Oh for god's sakes, Hermione, whatever you do, your hair will still be bushy, your teeth will still be big, and you'll still be attending with the greasy git. Resign yourself, and hurry up!"

When the door springs open, she takes my breath away. Her hair has been upswept in an understated twist, her face made up in classic neutrals. Her dress is a deep green, with silver stitching. They are my house colors. It is her wedding dress. She looks enchanting. She looks ridiculous.

"Take it off."

Her smile fades, and her eyes lose the sparkle that's possessed them all day.

"Severus?"

"You can't wear that bloody costume."

"Why not?"

"You'll, you'll make a laughing stock of me."

"I don't have another dress. Besides, there were only a few people at our…ceremony. No one will recognize…"

I can sense I am on the loosing side of the battle, and pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers.

"I would have given you money to purchase a new ensemble."

"I have money of my own. And that's besides the point. I like this dress. You seemed to think I looked good in it the first time."

I should tell her that she looks lovely, but I can't seem to formulate such flattering words. Instead I pull her cloak off the coat rack and drape it over her shoulders.

"Let's get this over with then."

I offer her my hand and pull her close. As we apparate to the front gates, I'm overcome by the smell of her freshly washed hair.

Boughs of greenery twine through the ironwork of Hogwarts' great gates. Briefly, I wonder what they would look like, aflame. The walk has been enchanted with floating candles, and as I steal a glance at her, I must admit that the subtle glow compliments her complexion. Our breath is visible in the cold air, but the chill only adds a rosy flush to her cheek. She catches me looking at her, and grins. I return my eyes to the gravel crunching underfoot.

Inside the hall, students swarm around us in brightly colored frippery. A sixth year hufflepuff stumbles into me, and gasps in horror as she rights herself. Hermione chuckles as the girl tears off down the corridor.

"No doubt this is an occasion that will live on in legend. The Snape that stole Yule Ball."

I'm formulating a scathing retort when a hand claps me on the back.

"Severus! I'm so glad you and Hermione could make it."

I grit my teeth at Albus and resist the urge to knock that ludicrous cap off his snowy white head.

"You know I can never bring myself to refuse one of your gracious invitations, Headmaster."

He twinkles at me infuriatingly, as he takes Hermione's hand in his own for an affectionate squeeze.

"You look lovely my dear, lovely. I'm sure you'll steal a few hearts this evening."

I clear my throat in disgust, and take Hermione by the elbow.

"If you need us, Albus, we will be seated at the head table, ensuring that none of your charges sneaks off to the astronomy tower - or the restricted section."

From the little sigh this elicits from him, I know I've made my point. If he expected me to exhibit a sudden infusion of "holiday cheer", he expected wrong.

When we enter the ballroom, the dancing is well underway. With Hermione in tow, I march to the head table and settle into a stiff-backed chair. Minerva, already in the cups, gives us a friendly wave. I nod vaguely in her direction. Hermione settles in beside me and folds her hands demurely in her lap.

"Just a few hours to go, and we can be on our way, my dear."

She laughs, "Be on our way? We just got here."

"Precisely. I plan on drinking exactly two glasses of mulled wine, eating three skewers of chicken satay, and menacing the room with my roving eye, seeking out any sign of students dry-humping in dark corners."

"Don't you want to dance?"

"Certainly not."

"Not even one dance?"

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione, if you want to dance, there are plenty of eligible partners floating about. Go corral one of your students. It will be the experience of his life. Give him something to think of during my lectures."

She remains silent for several minutes, but just can't seem to let the matter lie.

"Don't you know how?"

"How to what, Hermione?"

"Dance."

"I know HOW to cultivate flobberworms, but I don't want to do that either."

"You DON'T know how, do you?"

"If you are planning on goading me into defending my dancing abilities by sweeping you around the room in a gaudy show, you are grossly underestimating my intelligence, Mrs. Snape."

Her eyes flash up to mine when she hears me call her by my family name for the first time.

She sputters at me, "Oh, no…I was just…"

"I'm going to get some mulled wine. I'd be happy to bring you a glass, if only to give your mouth something to occupy itself with."

Without waiting for an answer, I rise and stalk over to the refreshment buffet. I am ladling the steaming wine into goblets when I am accosted by professor Trelawney. She's three sheets to the wind already, and her gigantic eyes blink up at me through thick rimmed glasses.

"Severus! Let's have a dance then, shall we?"

She's already wrapped her clawed hand around my wrist and is tugging me towards the dance floor."

"Gods, no. Unhand me."

"Oh, have some fun, Severus!"

"My dear lady, I can assure you that my idea of "fun" most assuredly does NOT involve…"

My words dry up as a gentle hand wraps itself around my waist.

"Sibyll! It's wonderful to see you. Unfortunately, my husband has already promised his first dance to me. I hope you won't mind."

I don't know whether to kiss her or give her a tongue lashing in front of the assembled guests. In the end I simply let her lead me onto the dance floor and away from the clutches of that insufferable madwoman.

I drape my arm loosely about Hermione's waist, keeping her at a respectable distance.

"That was very clever, you little minx."

Hermione smiles under her blush, trying her best to maintain an innocent countenance.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. I saw you trapped in an unsavory situation, and decided to come to your rescue."

I laugh and smirk at her, thoroughly unconvinced.

"Spin."

She twirls away from me, and then comes back to my hands.

"I owe you an apology, Severus. It seems you are quite a talented dancer indeed."

The waltz is such a simple dance. Even that egregious excuse for a wizard, Longbottom could waltz.

"Do you think a son from a pureblood family would be allowed out into society without dancing lessons?"

"I hadn't thought of that."

"Apparently not."

The song comes to an end and I step away from Hermione, offering her a polite bow. As I begin to lead her off the floor, I catch a glimpse of Trelawney lying in wait. I pull Hermione back into my arms, and Sibyll looks crestfallen.

"I think perhaps one more dance is in order."

Hermione laughs and lays her hand against my chest.

"You're despicable. Did you know?"

"I believe everyone knows, my dear. Except perhaps for Trelawney over there. Good Gods, does she do that every year? "

"She's gone through every male professor here. You should have seen two years ago when she cornered Hagrid. We were all terrified he'd shatter one of her feet."

"Perhaps he should have, and saved further generations from the trauma of being fresh meat."

As the next song springs to life, all but a handful of the dancing couples leave the floor. I am tempted to follow them off but the thought of dancing the tango with Trelawney makes my skin crawl. Instead, I look down at my partner. My mouth goes dry as I feel her bosom laid against my chest.

"Do you know how to tango, Hermione?"

"I've never actually DANCED the tango, however I have read several books on the subject and…"

"Then that would be a no, wouldn't it?"

"No. I mean Yes. I mean…"

I place my fingers over her lips and silence her with a "Shhhhh."

I step out from her arms, and she looks at me, confused. In my best professor voice I instruct her.

"Stand straight, eyes forward."

Her head snaps up, as I begin to circle her in time to the music. When I have made a full circle around her, I meet her eyes. She looks nervous, unsure of herself. I circle her, counterclockwise this time, just to unnerve her more. When I stand before her again, I extend my hand.

"First, we walk. Follow closely."

She takes my hand and mirrors her movements to my own. I draw her in closer, my hand at her waist, her cheek to my chest. Her eyes have glazed over, her pupils grown large. The feeling of having power over her is heady. I grip her more firmly and lead her in a circle.

"Faster now…let your right food lead, and your left drag behind you."

For a beginner, she is progressing nicely. She has read up on the subject, after all. Bloody bookworm.

The music builds, and the tempo increases. I put her through a few creative paces; a spin here, a slight dip there. But I find my style becoming more and more erratic. There is an ache in the pit of my stomach when her body is pressed full against me. I twirl her out in an effort to allay the feeling, only to have it come rushing back with a vengeance when she returns to my embrace. I nuzzle my nose into her hair and draw the scent into my nostrils. It is intoxicating. Without conscious decision I find myself whispering into her ear, "Is this what you wanted, Granger?"

I feel a hand creep up the back of my neck, and slender fingers running through my hair. It sends a shiver coursing through my synapses. When she speaks, her voice has dropped an octave below her conversational tone.

"Yes."

I can hear the crescendo of the music beginning to break, but my thoughts have left the dance and traveled elsewhere. Thank god for muscle memory. As the song reaches it's peak, I drop to my knee and bend her over it into a low dip. Her eyes seek out mine and I'm trapped there, starring at her. Her lips (the most delicious shade of pink. How have I missed it before now?) are parted, giving me just a glimpse of her teeth. She's breathing harder, though I can't believe the pace was to much for her. Of a sudden I'm possessed by the keening need to lean into her and claim those lips in a kiss. To accustom my teeth to the sweet flesh of her neck. To bury my face in the swell of her breasts. Inch by painful inch, I reach out my hand and brush my fingers over her cheek. She lets out a little gasp, and I almost draw away, but I feel like a beetle with a pin through its back. Trapped against a display board for all of eternity. And then the reality of where we are hits me, and I yank my hand back from her as if burned. Display. I AM on display.

When I look up from Hermione's flushed face, I am met with the gazes of a hundred pairs of eyes. The dancing has stopped, the drinking has stopped. And in their place, the new activity of choice for student and teacher alike, is staring at me. The room is deadly silent, but I can practically hear the laughter behind their wide-eyed stares. I pull Hermione unceremoniously to her feet, and I make for the door. I throw my free hand out, and bark, "Accio!" at our cloaks, catching them running.

I hear a familiar voice call my name, but I don't slow my pace. Instead I incline my head to him as we hurtle through the doorway.

"Good night, Albus!"

If he replies, I am too far out of earshot to hear anything but Hermione's ragged breathing.

"Severus!"

I reach behind me and throw Hermione's cloak over her shoulders. She tugs at the hand I am holding, but I only tighten my grip. In the end she fastens it deftly with the one hand she has free.

"Severus, what's gotten into you?"

As we pass through the gates, I pull her close. The moment before we apparate away, I look down on her face. I wish I hadn't

When we have exchanged the cold chill of Hogwarts' grounds for the cold chill of our flat, Hermione steps quickly away from me. She looks at me with a set jaw and angry eyes.

"What's all this hurry? Where's the fire, Severus?"

I'm in no mood for games. "You want a fire?"

I cast a scathing look at the fireplace, and a roaring inferno blazes to life.

"There's your fire."

I've seen her upset before, angry even, but not like tonight. She's positively livid. Like a spoiled child sent to bed early while her parents continue the party below.

"You know what I mean! What set you off? Why did you throw such a snit?"

"I didn't throw a "snit" as you call it, I merely left when the evening was no longer to my liking. I have no desire to be ridiculed and laughed at!"

"Laughed at?"

I'm close to shouting now, and I try to lower my voice.

"Yes, Laughed at. Just because it's not out loud, doesn't mean it isn't there. Didn't you see them all starring, you stupid girl?"

"Of course they were staring at you, you git! They were surprised! You've done your best to convince the world that you're such a hateful person, the idea that you're a wonderful dancer is SURPRISING! Maybe if you weren't so cold and biting to everyone, they wouldn't be surprised when you exhibited signs of human life!"

The heat from the fire has become sweltering, but I refuse to extinguish it. I tug open the buttons at the top of my frockcoat, exposing the silky green shirt below.

"I can understand your reluctance to admit that your friends were indeed enjoying a laugh at my expense, however..."

She advances on me, and looks me square in the eye. It appears as if a new realization has just dawned on her.

"You really can't see past that hooked nose of yours can you?"

"I am an accomplished Legilimens, Ms. Granger, and may I remind you that I can see perfectly well what you - and everyone else thinks!"

"You see EXACTLY what you expect to see. If someone is looking at you, they must be laughing at you. If someone reaches out to you in kindness and warmth…"

I cut off her protestations with the sharp rasp of my voice.

""Kindness and warmth? Is that what you'd like to call it, Granger? I have a better word for it: Obligation! I know what you were thinking the night we…"

She bridges the gap between us until I don't have an inch of personal space left. I fight the urge to push her away with more force than necessary.

"How could I NOT feel obligated to you! You've given up your LIFE to protect me! You've put yourself in harm's way. You've allowed me to participate in a potion that may very well tip the scales in our favor…"

"Regardless of what they may teach you in Gryffindor, Obligation is NOT a reason to lead a man to your bed."

"Is that what you think?"

"No, Hermione, that's what I saw."

She digs her hands into the thick material of my frockcoat and violently pulls me closer.

"You didn't even bother to look past that, did you?."

"Hermione, leave off."

I begin to brush her hands away, but she twines her fingers roughly in my hair and yanks my face down to her eye level.

"Look, Damn you. You look and you tell me what you see."

Though my mind is screaming protestations, I can see there is no reasoning with her. She's an overtired child refusing to listen to the truth. Very well. If she wants me to flay it open for her.

"Legilimens."

Slipping into her mind, I travel back through her memories. I can see her crying alone in her room as she makes the decision to become my wife. Her trepidation at our wedding, her desolation on the first night in our flat. There are some mild stirrings of what you might call "affection" as we work on the potion. Her regret over the fellow from the bar, her pain as I lay writhing under the Cruciatus, the concern she felt while tending to my injuries. As I venture further, I see us at dinner the night she was attacked on the street. She is holding my hand and smiling at me across the table. There is a rousing in her breast as we converse and share our triumphs. I hurry on to the flat, where I asses the injury to her ankle. I can feel the sense of obligation now, and it sickens me.

"Let go of me, you bitch."

I begin to recede from her mind, but Hermione digs her fingers into my face.

"Don't you dare look away, Severus. Don't you dare."

I return my attentions to her thoughts, and push past the initial feelings. The obligation is still there, but there is…more. I see myself slide inside her, and I can feel the stirrings of - Is it possible? Lust, swelling between her thighs. She wants me. Sincerely. I see my shadow self pulling out of her and pushing her to the bed. I wince as I feel the overpowering sting of rejection radiating from her. I might as well have slapped her in the face. Tonight's events play out before me, and I can feel her heart begin to race as we are dancing. The same swelling lust. Dear gods, she wants me. She desires me. It feels so foreign, so odd. Like I've been thrust below the surface of a frigid lake. If she feels more, I lack the bravery to seek it. I can feel her desire, and it is enough. I close my eyes and end our mental connection, only to replace it with the sweet taste of her mouth.

Amazingly, her lips part for me, encouraging my explorations. Her hands caress my face, but I pull my lips from hers. She looks startled, but I lay my forehead against hers and whisper, "I am sorry, Hermione."

"I'll let you make it up to me."

And with that, her lips rejoin mine. Our kiss lasts for several minutes. It is a thrilling feeling, to kiss someone who wants to kiss you back. This time, she breaks the kiss first, but it is only to lead me to her room. This time, I do not need to be tugged over the threshold. This time, I follow where I am led.

It takes a few moments to unbutton my coat, but I have help. I lay it over her dresser, as she starts to undo the collar of my shirt. I still her hands, and clasp them together. But she pulls them away from me and returns her attentions to unfastening my shirt. I've always felt so vulnerable being naked in the light, so I bring the illumination down very low. She does not complain, but simply goes about the removal of my clothes. Soon, we are both nude, and in each other's arms.

It goes slowly at first, gentle stroking and tentative caresses. I learn the planes of her body over the course of the next hour, as she learns mine. After I have brought her to climax (and without any magical aid, I might add) I spend myself inside her. I rasp out her name. She whispers mine softly into my ear. I hold her very tightly for a few moments, until my arm goes numb. Then, I shift to my back and stare up at the ceiling. We lay side by side without touching, and let the passion subside. When I finally break the silence, it is with a question.

"Shall I go?"

Her hand snakes under the covers and finds mine. She wraps her fingers about it and gives it a little squeeze.

"I'd like it if you stayed."

I turn back to her in the dark, and kiss the soft juncture where her neck meets the shoulder. It is all the answer she needs.


	16. Sacrifice

It is an odd thing to wake up with one's former student nestled peacefully against your side. To hear the soft noises of sleep catch in her throat, and feel the unfamiliar tickle of an impish tendril teasing the skin of your torso. And yet, this is exactly how I wake, and how I find Hermione Granger, with her unwieldy mop of curly hair, splayed out over the side of my bed that is usually covered with nothing more substantial than the starched precision of Egyptian cotton sheets.

Shall I rise, and go about my morning routine, even with the risk of waking her? Should I wake her deliberately, and if so, in what manner? With a kiss? A gentle touch? The sound of my voice? My intellect fails me, and my knowledge is limited to theoretical supposition. If I knew exactly what to do, I suppose I would have found myself in this situation more often. While I am unromantically deliberating on the wisest course of action, Hermione wakes of her own accord. Her eyes flutter open, her pupils adjust to the light, and she sways in the momentary sense of limbo brought on by waking in a strange bed. I find myself swaying with her, caught in the disorientation of her lovely eyes. We regard each other as warily as dueling partners, looking for any sign of rejection or regret. And then I feel the earth grow solid beneath me as her hand brushes my cheek in unguarded affection. I can feel the muscles in my chest unclench as she reaches out to me, making the first move, and winning my gratitude. Forgive me, Hermione. I would have made the first move if I was not paralyzed by the specter of your denunciation. I turn my lips unto her knuckles and offer her a chaste kiss of her hand.

"Good Morning."

Her eyes are warm with mirth when she speaks. "How could it be otherwise, after such a lovely night?"

"We're different people in the night. The darkness allows us to cloak so many of our faults. In the stark light of day we find ourselves revealed, warts and all."

She sits up a bit, and looks me square in the face, but her smile does not fade. "Severus Snape, are you suggesting that I have warts?

"I wasn't talking about you, my dear."

She creeps closer to me, and wraps her arms about my neck.

"Did you smuggle another woman in here in the night?"

"You know very well what I mean."

She looks at me very seriously now, and speaks in a quietly serious tone.

"I have searched every inch of you, Severus, and while I have found scars, and rough patches, I have found no warts." She punctuates her statement with a kiss. My arms circle her waist of their own accord, and pull her close. It feels like heaven to have her smooth, bare skin pressed against me. She pulls back from me with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"But on second thought, perhaps I should search again. In the name of scientific research, of course."

My heart beat begins to accelerate as her warm palms smooth their way over my stomach and travel lower.

"As long as it's in the name of scientific research, Ms. Granger, proceed."

Her voice is muffled as she ducks her head under the covers, but I can just make her out:

"It's not Granger. It's Snape."

Needless to say, we don't actually leave the bed for another hour. When we do finally shrug off sheet and blanket in favor of soap and water, the shower proves to be awfully cramped. I resolve to lengthen and widen said shower when I have a moment to spare. Now, we dress and venture into Hogsmeade in search of sustenance.

For the first time in years, I'm absolutely ravenous. I order up a hearty plate of bangers, bacon, and black pudding. Hermione opts for a tall stack of pancakes spiked with chocolate chips. She manages to convince me to sample them, and they are much tastier than I would ever admit. She wipes a smear of chocolate from the corner of my mouth, and I kiss her across the table. If I offend any of the restaurant patrons, they are more than welcome to escort themselves to hell.

With breakfast concluded, we stroll leisurely through Hogsmeade. The conversation is light, untroubled by deep thoughts or serious conversation. She paints her wrist with perfume and purchases it when I indicate my approval of the scent. I stock up on a few key ingredients for the Cruciatus Elixir, and acquire a bottle of wine for our evening meal. When we are not examining the shop wares, we hold hands. When I am not looking, she kisses me on the cheek.

As morning stretches into afternoon, we return to the flat to drop off our purchases and check on the most recent batch of Cruciatus Elixir. Her mood is bright, and she is quick to smile now that she has been allowed back into my working realm.

"Do you think it's ready to bottle, Severus?"

I watch the viscosity of the golden liquid as it clings to the back of a wooden spoon.

"Indeed. Would you hand me that funnel, please?"

She does so, and I feel a little shiver of pleasure as her hand brushes mine. I wonder when this sensitivity, this wonderful newness, wears off. I guide the funnel into the mouth of the container she is holding, and begin the tedious procedure of bottling the elixir. With another pair of competent hands, it goes much quicker than usual. Hermione shrinks the bottles and packs them carefully into a padded case. I secret the case away on my person.

How she managed it, I'll never know, but when we apparated from the flat, her head was tucked under my chin. When we arrive at the front gates of Hogwarts, her lips are pressed to mine. I chuckle into her open mouth, and back her into the cool iron scroll work. We kiss like that for several minutes. It's disgraceful, really. Should word get out, we'd both be reprimanded. Fawning over each other like second years in heat. Deplorable. Eventually, I pull myself off her, and push her down the path to the great hall, a bit roughly. She doesn't seem to mind. We veer off sharply to the left, and take a hidden corridor down to my dungeons.

The first order of business is to stow the precious elixir in my warded cabinet. Before I can move on to the next, I find my hands full of a bushy mane of auburn hair. My lips are as busy as my hands. She leads me to the leather couch in my study, pulling me down with her.

"You're insatiable, you little trollop. I'm not a young man, you know."

"I'm sure you have something in those creaky cabinets that could give you a lift, so to speak."

I pin her hands above her head and kiss the sensitive skin at the base of her neck. I learned of this spot only last night, and yet it's already become such a useful little piece of information.

"What a sharp tongue you have, my dear."

"You didn't seem to think it was sharp last night. In fact, just this morning…"

We are interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared. I spring away from her, suddenly thankful for my fully clothed state, as I come face to face with Albus Dumbledore. In one brief moment I know exactly what it feels like to be a second year caught in the act.

"Headmaster."

"Severus. Hermione. Please forgive the intrusion. I knocked, but…"

Hermione sits up on the couch, smoothing her robes, and I square my shoulders. We are adults after all, and have nothing to be ashamed of.

"It is customary to wait until your knock is acknowledged, isn't it, Headmaster?"

"You have my apologies. However, I need to speak with you, now."

From the grave look in his eye, I know it is useless to argue. I turn back to Hermione, and run my hand over her cheek.

"I will be back shortly. Stay out of my cabinets, you filthy little thief."

I can hear her laugh softly as I stride out of the room. I find it only slightly annoying that the old man can keep up with me without breaking stride.

"So, what couldn't wait, Albus?"

"I will not speak of it in the hallway."

We travel the rest of the way in unmolested silence. Once inside his quarters, I turn to face him. I expect to see a smug twinkle in his eyes, but his gaze is deadly serious. I can feel my stomach bottom out, and my mouth go dry.

"When?"

He shrugs, pacing.

"Tomorrow. The next day. A week at the most. He is keeping his own army in suspense."

"How did you find out."

"I have someone on the inside."

This comes as a surprise. What else hasn't he told me?

"Who?"

"It's not important."

"Where is Potter? Have you told him."

"Yes. He's in the castle now, preparing. I will marshal our forces tonight. How much of the elixir do you have?"

"Enough for two hundred, perhaps. Maybe a few more. We brought the last of it here just an hour ago."

He winces when I couple Hermione to me in the phrase "we". He is keeping something from me.

"Make sure you take the elixir first, Severus, and keep an extra vial on you. After that, Potter of course will need a strong dose. Then our Aurors. If there's anything left, the youngest students…"

"Surely you don't plan on keeping them here?"

"It's too late to risk moving them. The wards on the castle should hold."

"And if they don't?"

"There is nothing left for us to do now, Severus except plan for war."

He looks as if he's being crushed under a great weight. No doubt, this unsettling news is weighing on him, but there is something else he is keeping from me. I feel a wave of dread sinking over me as I screw up my courage.

"What are you hiding from me, Albus?"

"Severus, we have very little time left. We should…"

"No. What IS it Albus?"

"There is nothing…"

Whether I catch him unawares, or I am just faster than him, my hands flash out and capture his dry, wrinkled face.

"Legilimens!"

The first thing I see is my broken, bloated corpse, grown stiff with rigor mortis. And another man, or what once could be called a man and now must not be named, lying dead at my side. I feel a sickening wave of disgust and disorientation washing over me as the scene in his mind rewinds. I see my death. The way I writhe under the other man's touch. The way I scream like a frightened child. And in the background, a bespectacled boy with a scar casting a killing curse on my laughing tormentor. I have never seen the future in another person's eyes. Whether these are events that will come to pass, or merely Dumbledore's expectations for how the final battle will end, I do not know. I snatch my hand back, and fight the urge to strike him hard across the face. My body is shaking in anger and disgust. I feel like setting things afire. I feel like grinding his face into the ground.

"You're banking on my death., you bastard."

"I have been given very few advantages in this battle, Severus. Don't hate me for using those advantages for the greater good."

I can feel white hot anger welling up in my heart at this unexpected betrayal.

"You would use me as a distraction?"

"We will need one, Severus, and you know the ill-will he bears you. But now, with the potion you have been brewing, your chances have improved dramatically. And if you die…you'll die a hero."

"What makes you think I wouldn't rather live as a coward?"

"She wouldn't love you if you slunk away, you know."

I feel a new surge of fury welling up as references Hermione. How dare he use her to exploit my weakness.

"What would you know of her heart, old man! How can you even profess to have one yourself, to call me friend in one moment, and forfeit up my life the next."

He grows very quiet and I notice, perhaps for the first time, that has grown very very old.

"Severus, your life has been forfeit since Voldemort discovered your betrayal. It is not by chance that you are still alive. He has allowed you to live so that he might have the chance to watch you suffer."

I have always know Albus was a strong man, but in the past I have doubted his mettle. More the folly for me. What steel must lie behind those twinkling eyes.

"What would you have me do, Albus? Strut up to the Dark Lord amidst the fray of battle and ask to receive punishment for my transgressions?"

My voice has risen to a stringent rasp. His voice never breaks above his normal speaking voice.

"Voldemort lives for revenge. He will seek you out, Severus. All you will have to do is last until Potter can take him by surprise."

I bark out a harsh and joyless laugh.

"Is that all, Headmaster? Just that long? After that, do I have your permission to expire in peace?"

"If you think it would cost me nothing to sacrifice you, you are less of a man that I thought you were. But there is more at stake here Severus, than I can allow my affection to dictate."

"Spare me your affection, Albus!"

"I have loved you like a son, Severus."

"And sacrificed me like one as well. You have lied to me, and exploited me. And even worse, you haven't even deigned to ask me. You didn't even given me the chance to martyr myself before you strung me up!"

"I could not be sure you would agree."

"How can you question my loyalty. I have never refused you!"

If it is possible, he looks even more wounded. He looks ashamed.

"But now you have more to lose."

My thoughts stray to the woman lying on the couch in my dungeon. My heart aches to unburden myself to her, and beg her to flee with me. But even as I entertain the idea, I know it is an empty fantasy. Damn that old bastard, but he's right. There is more at stake here. But damn him all to hell for giving me a reason to care. Or rather a hundred reasons, all locked up and safely stored in the form of the remarkable woman who has captured my heart. 

"You have played me well, old man, and if it were only that, I could forgive you. But how dare you drag her into this. She has lost enough already."

"I will see to it that she is taken care of."

Dumbledore advances on me, and grabs my hand in his fierce grip.

"You have my word, Severus."

"Pity, that it means so little to me now, old man."

There is pain brimming in his eyes as I pry his fingers from my hand. I stride out of his quarters and leave him to his conscience.

I walk down the hallway with the indecisive gait of a man who's had his life ripped out from under him. I am stumbling towards the woman who has awakened a new desire for life in me. I am stumbling towards my own death. How can I tell her what Albus has in store for me? How can I tell her that fate's cruelest joke is to finally make me care again right before my life is snatched away? How can I tell her that I'll die with her name the last thing on my lips. The answer is simple: I can't. 


	17. Cruel to be Kind

There is only so much shuffling a man can do. When I find myself nearing the dark corridor that leads to my quarters, I lean against the cold stone wall and take a moment to steel myself. When I start on my way again, I no longer walk like a man who is already dead. My gait is strong, decisive, a familiar façade to the progeny of Hogwarts. Inside, walls are crumbling all around me. Screams echo off the interior of my skull. But my face is as placid as a windless lake. Letting her see my despair would hurt her chances for survival more than if I'd snapped her wand in two. We can fight through pain and fear and love and hate, but despair will kill you before your opponent even has you in their sights. She will not learn despair from me.

As I mutter the password to my rooms, and the door swings open, I sense the presence of an intruder. My hackles raise, my nostrils flare, and the skin at the base of my neck pricks. Hermione is sitting with her back to me, her tangled mop of hair hanging over the back of the couch we were snogging on earlier this evening. She sips from a cup of tea, engaging in conversation with an unseen partner. As I stealthily enter the room, my eyes catch a glimpse of her companion and I feel a mild swell of annoyance. Potter. I cast a silencing charm and remain hidden from their view.

"You really think it will work, Hermione?"

She takes another sip of her tea and nods thoughtfully.

"Work? That's a rather vague criteria, Harry. It won't make us invincible. We won't squash the dark forces like ants at a picnic. But our wizards will have more stamina. It will take more to fell them, and give us an advantage."

He nods, taking it in. Then he smiles at her, and shrugs off the subject.

"So, how are things going otherwise? I hear Snape was in an awful snit for the Yule Ball."

She laughs here and sets her teacup down.

"It's not as bad as all that, Harry"

"I'll be relieved when this war is over and you can go back to living your normal life."

I wait for her to say something, but she doesn't speak. She merely nods and picks up her teacup.

Not as bad as all that. It could have been worse. I could have been hateful. Greasy. An unloved, unwashed git. She could have told him how she aches for normalcy. How living with me has been the greatest trial of her short life. That every day she prays for release. But it's not as bad as all that.

"Mr. Potter."

Potter fumbles his teacup as the silencing charm falls away, sending several milky droplets onto my carpet. Merlin's balls, this is our last, best hope?

"Professor Snape…I was just leaving."

Hermione swivels on the couch and I catch her in profile. Gods, she is lovely.

"Oh, don't leave on my account. I have papers to grade, cauldrons to scrub. Far be it from me to disturb your conversation."

He gets to his feet in a hurry and sets his cup down rather roughly on my ebony end table. Without a coaster I might add.

"I really should be going, Sir."

"Then I'll escort you out."

Hermione looks concerned as I usher her young friend to the door. He seems surprised as I follow him into the hallway and shut the door behind us.

"How much have you told her?"

He slouches, reduced to a schoolboy's stance. Dear Gods, I hope he grows up overnight.

"Nothing, Sir. Professor Dumbledore thought that matter should be left to your discretion."

"And what else has professor Dumbledore told you?"

From the way he avoids my eyes and searches carefully for his words, I know everything I need to.

"Never mind. I may very well be the Dark Lord's entertainment tomorrow, but bear in mind that if that turns out to be the case, I can assure you that you'll be the first one I choose to visit postmortem Imagine trying to romance one of your moistened binks with THIS head floating over your shoulder. I'm sure it will bring you all the luck it has brought me!"

And with that incentive, I leave him slack-mouthed in the hallway. Back in my dungeons, Hermione waits for me on the couch. I find myself reluctant to approach her. She seems to sense it, and I see worry darkening the corners of her eyes.

"Why did the Headmaster want to speak to you?"

In a low, petty, child impulse, I'm tempted to tell her. In bloated, gory detail. I move toward the couch, but I do not sit. Instead, I hover across from her.

"He had some questions about the specifics of the Cruciatus Elixir."

"Everything's alright then?" she says, her voice tinged with incredulity.

"Yes, Hermione."

She doesn't seem convinced.

"I was worried it might have been serious."

I catch her eyes with mine and hold them. I can feel my gaze grow cold, my lips pinch, my heart clenching. I punctuate every word: "No, Hermione. It's not as bad as all that."

Her gaze drops to the floor, and she sighs. Her shoulders slump almost imperceptibly.

"I didn't know how you'd want to…IF you'd want to…."

I'd like to believe her. I'd like to believe her all the way to the curtain-sheathed bed in the next room. But there is a voice gnawing at the back of my mind that would have me believe otherwise.

"If I'd want to WHAT Hermione? Break the news to your adoring friends that I'd taken advantage of your kind nature and wormed my way into your knickers?"

"That's not what I meant…"

"Can you imagine their horror? Their disgust?"

"Severus, you're not being fair!"

"Don't speak to me of "fair" Hermione."

She has risen to her feet, and advanced on me. Unconsciously, I find myself retreating from the hurt look in her eyes.

"Why? Why do you always do this?

She presses forward and ardently lays her hand against my face. Her voice has dropped lower: "Why does everything have to be a slight, Severus? Why can't you give me the benefit of the doubt for just a moment?"

I want to take her face between my hands and kiss her. I want to tell her what fate has in store for me. I want to let her wrap her arms around me, and tell me that, together, we'll find a way out of the hole I started digging a decade ago. No. Better to let it end this way. Could there be anything more selfish than dragging her down with me? She has moved closer, her lips in the uncomfortable vicinity of my own.

"I understand, that children often make foolish mistakes, Hermione. I would never hold you to the mistakes of one night."

She does not seem deterred by my condescension.

"If you need convincing, Severus, let me convince you."

Weakness threatens to overwhelm me, and I fight the urge to cradle her in my arms and kiss her soft cheek. It takes monumental effort to wrap my fingers around her wrist and remove her hand from my face, but I do. I can see her mind working furiously, trying to come to some conclusion about my abrupt change of heart.

"What happened when you left with Albus?"

"We've already discussed this."

And then, my Hermione surprises me. She cups my face in both her hands, and as my resolve breaks and I begin to lean in to kiss her, I hear her whisper: "Legilimens."

Needless to say, our lips never meet. I feel a faint intrusion at the edges of my consciousness. The little minx. Where on earth did she learn? She's no expert, not really even a novice, but I can feel her in my mind and I quickly section off the events in Dumbledore's study. Instead, I show her images of my cauldrons, metric tables, conversion charts, anything to keep her from the truth. I'm ready to thrust her out of my mind for good when I suddenly realize what I must do. It's not pretty. In fact, it might just be the ugliest thing I've ever done. But I swear to you, Hermione, I do this for your own good. If I hurt you, if I wound, I do so only to spare you worse. What I do, Hermione, I do because I love you.

It's easy enough to alter the truth for her. She's a quick study, but the art of Legilimency takes years, if not decades, to perfect. And the trust. Gods, she's so trusting that it breaks my heart. I offer her an image of us dancing at the Yule Ball, and let her feel my imagined boredom. I can feel her puzzling at this unexpected development. I throw her another scene of us kissing, and allude to mild arousal. As we lay in bed afterward, my phantom memory contemplates crawling from the bed so I can keep her from touching me in her sleep. Finally, I flash forward to this evening, and step into Albus' office. The doppelganger Dumbledore holds a letter in his hand and waves it at my twin with annoyance. I give him voice, and I must say I do an excellent job mimicking the timbre of his anger.

"What is the meaning of this, Severus?"

It is painful to form the next words, even in the confines of my own mind.

"It was a mistake, albeit an enjoyable enough one. But what is to come when the war is over? I have done this favor for you, Albus, but I won't be saddled with her once the danger has passed."

It is enough. She recedes from my mind timidly, a single tear rolling down a cheek that is coloring red with embarrassment and hurt. She tries valiantly to hide it. Her shaky voice covers most of the humiliation, but not all. I feel like a monster.

"I am sorry, Ms. Granger."

I have grown so used to her usual admonitions against her name, that it feels odd not to hear them issue from her lips.

"I was afraid you might have grown attached to me, Professor, but I'm glad to see you've been able to keep a…a perspective on our…arrangement."

"Where did you learn how to do that?"

She is grateful for another topic of discussion, and jumps into it with too loud a voice and exaggerated gestures. She retreats to my bookcases, putting the distance of the room between us.

"I've been spying through your books. It's a useful skill to have, you know. Being able to see what people really think of you."

I ache with tenderness for her. I long to wrap arms of comfort about her slender shoulders and allow her to probe my mind for the unedited truth. But the damage has been done already. Surely, there would be no harm in offering her a kind word. Just one. No harm in something so small as that.

"I've never known of someone who taught themselves the art of Legilimency. It's really quite extraordinary."

She avoids my eyes as she nods, and forces a smile.

"It's nothing so amazing. I've always had a way with textbooks." She yawns. "I'm suddenly very tired. Would you mind terribly if we went back to the flat?"

"I still have a great deal of work to do. The bed in my room is quite comfortable. Why don't you sleep there. I'll retire to the couch tonight so I can be certain not to wake you."

"Thank you, I think I shall."

She hurries to my room, in a last ditch effort to salvage the remains of her dignity.

"Good Night, Professor."

I nod to her as I ruffle through some unimportant papers.

"Goodnight, Ms. Granger."

And so I spend what may well be my last night alive on the cramped couch in my study, the woman I love crying herself to sleep on the other side of the wall. 


	18. The Battle Begins

There is no need for Dumbledore to wake me; the familiar line of gooseflesh prickling along my forearm is the subtlest and most reliable portent of the coming desperate hours. This warning, this dark call-to-arms has never left me. Why he continues to allow me this sixth sense, after my flight from his good graces, has never been so painfully clear as it is now. In the past I thought, perhaps, the binding magic was so strong that even he could not tear it asunder. As I rise from the rigid leather couch and stretch my cramped spine, I could laugh at my ignorance. Where poor dumb beasts suffer once, men suffer twice, for man must not only bear physical anguish but the mental agony of anticipated pain. He has allowed me to retain our link, this ill gotten brand, for one purpose alone. So that I might sense the moment of my impending doom, and suffer twice the torment.

Make no mistake, this war has little to do with me. The Dark Lord would still be mounting a fearsome assault on these ancient walls had I never kissed the hem of his shadowy robes. He would still be plotting the death of the boy-that-lived if I had never turned from him in disgust and pledged my allegiance to a Master who asked me to harness my darkness for the side of light. But I have betrayed he-who-will-not-be-named, and he will visit his vengeance upon me. Perhaps the light is a harsher Master after all, asking me to lay down the remnants of my life for the greater good. At least the darkness never expected me to care about anything greater than myself. But Gods help me, now I do care.

Regardless of the late hour, the spectre of sleep has hastily fled from me. I remove the decanter of fire whiskey from my end table and replace it in its cupboard. I tidy the papers on my desk, and find myself overcome with a twinge of annoyance that I've left a spate of essays ungraded. If the students survive to continue classes, no doubt Minerva will award them all high marks to balance out the 'trauma' they've been through. Give the lot of them swelled heads and an inflated sense of self. I toss the papers into the fireplace and reduce them to ash. Let it never be said that Severus Snape celebrated mediocrity.

I make a wide sweep of the room, picking up a book here, closing a cabinet door there, extinguishing the large pillar candle on my mantle place. There is something pathetically sad about a life that can be fully ordered and parceled away in under five minutes. I wish I had great plans left unfinished so I could bemoan my fate to the heavens. I wish I needed to say more goodbyes. But time is growing dearer, and wishing will not make it so. I circle the room once more, to school my thoughts. Still, there is one thing left undone.

The light in my personal quarters is dim, but I move easily through the familiar room. I hear her shallow breathing before I see her. Her image gradually emerges as my eyes adjust to the low light. She is sleeping on her side, her knees tucked up, hands wrapped about her waist. Her eyes are puffy, the eyelashes matted together with salty tears. I watch her for several moments until a sharp pain courses the length of my arm. He is getting closer. I seat myself on the side of the bed, and reach out my hand to the somulent girl. She stirs under my touch, and opens her sleep-filled eyes. She looks surprised to see me perched beside her. I run a finger over the salty tracks of her tears.

"I love you." I feel as though I'm suspended in the heady weightlessness of dreams. The words spilling from my lips are not the calculated responses of my waking life, but unguarded truth. I feel naked. The disbelief that colors her features tugs at my heart.

"No you don't. I looked inside you and I saw."

I reach out to grasp her hand but she tugs away.

"I lied to you, Hermione. I showed you illusions created especially for you."

She looks incredulous.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm going to die."

Suddenly, she is very much awake. She sits up in the bed, thrusting the covers down to her lap. The worry in her voice is palpable.

"What are you talking about?"

I roll back my sleeve and reveal the marking, in stark relief on my pale skin. " The Dark Lord's forces will be storming the castle within the hour."

She tosses the covers back violently, and swings her legs over the side of the bed.

"We'll have to warn…There's so much to…" I grasp her arms, gently preventing her from rising. Her plaintive voice falls silent as my earlier words sink in. When she finds her voice, she speaks almost in a whisper: "What it you mean, a moment ago? When you said…"

"I am to be the lure, Hermione. A tantalizing diversion for the Dark Lord."

She looks stricken. Her fingers dig painfully into my already sensitive forearm.

"But, Harry…"

"Will take advantage of said diversion."

"He would never suggest…"

"It was not his suggestion, Hermione."

She is working back and forth between horror and disbelief. "Dumbledore?"

"He must use whatever advantages he has, however unpleasant."

Her hands clench the at the collar of my robe, pulling me closer. She hasn't fully given into panic yet, but I can see it biting at her heels.

"But our Elixir!"

"Our elixir will no doubt save many of our fighters, my dear, engaged in combat with dark wizards. But against the Dark Lord himself? He has not forgotten my disloyalty. Our elixir may very well prolong my life, but it is foolish to think it might preserve it."

I pull a vial of the elixir out of my pocket and snap the cork free. "I want you to drink this."

"Severus, we must…"

"You must drink this, Hermione."

I tip the vial to her lips and she quickly downs it. My hands tenderly cup her face, stroking the hair out of her eyes. Our lips meet in a desperate kiss that shakes me to the core. When I am dying, I will use this kiss to shield me from the pain. It will not be enough, but it is the best I have.

When the kiss has ended, I touch my forehead to hers and begin to ease her back into the bed. She looks shocked.

"What are you doing?"

"Lie down, Hermione."

"I don't understand!"

"You don't need to."

Her eyes are full of worry, but she complies with my request.

"It's better this way, Hermione."

"Severus…"

"Better by far you should forget and smile than that you should remember and be sad."

Realization dawns on her a fraction of a second too late.

"Severus, No!"

"Obliviate!"

Her eyes glaze over as the knowledge of our encounter leeches away from her memory. Before she can react, I whisper: "Somulus." Sleep overtakes her and she slumps unceremoniously into my bed. I let out let out a deep sigh without turning around.

"Do you listen in on ALL my conversations, or just the tawdry bits?"

I rise and brush past the Headmaster. I notice his eyes are shimmering with emotion.

"Why tell her you love her, if only to steal away such precious knowledge?"

"Because I'm a selfish man. I wanted to know what it felt like, to tell someone."

"She has a right to her memories, my boy. A right to know…"

I present my back to him as I gather up my remaining stores of elixir.

"As I had a right to know the fate you had in store for me? Sometimes we're better off not knowing."

"Have you considered the possibility that you just might live through this ordeal?"

"Have you ever known me to engage in foolish fantasy, Albus?"

He has the decency not to argue with me. I am right, after all. 

"The first wave will hit us in approximately twenty minutes."

"You'd best see to your precious Potter then, shouldn't you?"

He hurries from my quarters to ready the boy wonder. I think to remain a moment in my chambers, but there is no nostalgia left in me. I have said all the farewells that matter. Nothing is left there but the dry bindings of ancient manuscripts, and a girl ensconced in vacant, dreamless sleep. My last indulgence with her has passed. If I wait too long, I fear I will not have the strength to leave. The wards in my rooms are strong. It is the most safety I can offer her.

The halls are a flurry of movement: The young being herded to safer confines, the hale and the aged steadying themselves for war. I notice several seventh years have marshaled ranks and formed loosely defined battalions. No doubt they have been practicing for years. Pity, they have no idea what's in store for them. Dueling with their classmates is a far cry from what they're about to face. Some lessons, I suppose, can only be learned the hard way.

I catch a glimpse of Potter darting towards Albus, and briefly meet the boy's eyes. He looks genuinely apologetic. More than likely, he's just sore that he'll have to share some of the glory. How bloody like his father.

The first explosion rattles the great windows, but does little else. The bright flashes, just visible over the ramparts, are few and far between. The rumbling is indistinct, far away. At this rate, we'll be here all night and straight on through morning.

The minutes tick by. Our forces settle into a hushed and fearful anticipation. The waiting seems to draw out forever, setting my nerves on edge. And then, white hot agony grips the tendons of my arm, my hand convulsing in a spastic twitch as the dark mark springs to bright, searing life. I lunge out of the way as huge chunks of the castle wall hurtle forward in an explosive burst. Children scream and scatter. Half-growns shake with fear but hold their ground. The last ounce of color drains from Dumbledore's face. Dear Gods, they've already breeched our wards. 


	19. Death in the Garden

"Come to me, my son."

Ancient mortar and stone fly past me, grazing my shoulder, but I hardly feel the pain. Instead, I focus all my efforts on purging that insidious voice from my mind.

"Sssseverus…"

Sparks explode left and right, spouting from wands barely visible in my peripheral vision. The world around me is dulled, indistinct, dangerous. My vision clears momentarily, and I snatch a glimpse of a death eater in my path. I fear I'm a moment to late. Her wand is already leveled at me, poised to strike. I'd utter a curse, but my tongue is sluggish, swollen fast in my mouth. I brace myself for the killing blow, but it never comes.

"No."

The voice is my head barks authoritatively, with a terrifying harshness. The death eater whirls and is gone, in search of other quarry.

"Why do you fear, my child? Surely you know I would not let them harm you."

I regain the use of my voice, and mutter, "Of course, My Lord. I know full well the love you bear for traitors."

Thankfully the raucous fighting assures my voice is lost in the din, or those around me would suspect I'd gone quite mad.

"Your lack of faith wounds me, my son."

"No doubt you'll soon have ample opportunity to return the favor."

The chuckle resonating off the walls of my skull makes my blood run cold. Out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of Potter teetering on a parapet several feet above and my courage nearly fails me. It would be pointless to run. I'd be dead before I hit the cobblestones outside. But it would be quick. Merlin save me, it would be over in a flash of green and a whisper of breath. But I do not have the luxury of a coward's death. I have a job to do. Hopefully, Potter will do his duty as well. Unfortunately, there's only one way to find out. Marshalling all my strength, I make one last effort to push the grasping tentacles from my mind, and shoot a meaningful glance up at Potter. I pray to any god who will listen that the boy has seen me. A heartbeat later, the Dark Lord holds sway once more in my mind, and I don't dare signal Potter again. The voice slithers back to life, echoing off the walls of my chest like a low and rumbling bass.

"You're loosing your edge Severus. Your feeble attempts to oust me are almost piteous."

"I am tired, my lord"  
"I know, my child, I know. I can give you rest. Come to me."

It is useless to delay any longer. It will only sap the strength I have left. I know what I am meant to do. I am of no use here, in the main hall. No one from his side will fight me, now. Oh, they'd like to. They'd relish the opportunity to make me, once his favorite, writhe and scream under their curses. But, they have been warned. They are not to lift a finger. I belong to him. My screams are music for his ears alone. Without casting a further glance to our forces, I stride from the room. The great doors, once so stoic and strong now lie uselessly torn from their ancient hinges. The fighting continues unchecked about me, but no one so much as gives me a moment's glance. I might as well be invisible. Perhaps I am. I can't feel the telltale sensation of magic prickling across my skin, but you never know with him. He's tricky like that. I hope that Potter has found a way to follow me, but I don't dare look back. I find a newfound sympathy for Orpheus, for Lot's wife, for Pandora and her damned box.

The earth crunches softly beneath my feet as I follow the faint luminescence of his trail. My hand slides over a rosebush and catches on a thorn. The faint glimmer of pain is hazy and indistinct. I am overcome with the urge to laugh, and I can hear my unhealthy cackle reverberating off the gravel below. So, I meet my end in the rose garden? Amidst pansies and peonies and the gossamer spider webs that cling to the soft petals of overripe blooms.

"What amuses you, my son?"

I'm past feigning respect, past pleading and begging and groveling at his feet. Of course, he can make me, if he'd like too. But that will come later. Not now. Now, we meet as two men, alone, surrounded by Madam Sprout's fragrant blossoms. He is sitting on a viewing bench, draped in a rich winter robe. The cold bothers him still, but his handsomeness has returned. He looks better than the last time I saw him. Better than I remembered.

"You know very well what amuses me. You've decided I'm to expire in a flower garden, thus riding me of the last few dregs of my already soiled dignity."

He laughs, a rich deep sound that has lost the tinny rasp of years past. He looks almost healthy.

"What makes you think I plan to kill you, Severus?"

"That question doesn't merit an answer, Mr. Riddle."

A deep rending pain sears through my innards, and I lock my knees to remain standing upright. The wave of nausea passes.

"You used to have better manners, Severus."

"No, I've always had disdainful manners. I just used to be better at kissing your arse. Lost the stomach for it now, I'm afraid."

"Perhaps it's time I gave you a refresher course in etiquette when dealing with a superior."

"No need, my liege. I think I quite remember. Bend deeply at the waist. Drop heavily to both knees. Lean forward, taking care not to sully the honorees robs, and press lips ever so obsequiously to the hem…"

My words run dry as I hear the gravel crunch behind me. The curve of the dark lord's smile makes bile rise in my throat.

"I'm so glad you could join us, my dear."

I close my eyes, my bravado gone, and sink to the ground in a heap. I bend low to musty earth, barely flinch as the pebbles bite into my flesh, and drag myself bodily to his feet. I mustn't look back. Mustn't look. I thrust my hands to the hem of his robes and bury my face within their velvet folds.

"My Lord…"

My voice cracks and I'm filled with rage at the weak sound that emanates from my shaking chest. He knows, Merlin help me, he knows it wasn't just a chore. It wasn't just another project for Dumbledore. He knows. Fingers slide through the hair at the nape of my neck. Like one pets a dog.

"I knew you hadn't forgotten your manners, Severus. You just needed to remember. Never fear. My benevolence knows no bounds. I shall give you a reminder. Rise, my son."

I fight to lift myself to my knees, out of this ungodly crouch, but my hands remain white-knuckled, clutching the hem of his garment. Two hands clasp my shoulders and raise me up so that I am a mere foot below eye level. His eyes shimmer brightly in the darkness. His face approaches mine, and I shudder at his closeness. His lips part to whisper in my ear.

"I would have given her to you, my son. I am not so heartless as your other owner. Look. Turn and look."

I follow his command and am greeted by the sight of Hermione in her night dress. She should be shivering from the cold, her bare feet sinking into the chilled earth but her vacant eyes display no response. I want to call out to her, scream for her to run, but she hears nothing. She's blind as a bat, and stone cold deaf.

"My Lord…"

"It was cruel of him, my son, to hoist this burden upon you without the offer of your just reward. It would be so easy. A little Imperious, Severus, you'd never even know. So warm, so compliant. I would have done it on your behalf, and you'd have been none the wiser. She'd be yours and you'd count yourself lucky. And why shouldn't you have a wanton little mud blood waiting for you at the end of a hard day. Begging to take those cold, twisted lips and make them warm with tender kisses."

In the back of my mind, I stem the tide of panic at Potter's absence. Instead, I let my fear for Hermione come to the forefront. There's no need to hide it now. He knows. Let him enjoy the full measure of my pain, and perhaps forget himself in his revels.

"What do you want?"

"Want? Nothing for myself, Severus. I only want to show you the error of your ways."

I need to keep him talking. I need to buy more time on the outside chance that our bumbling hero may yet arrive.

"And how do you propose to enlighten me, my Lord?"

"It's so much simpler than you might expect, my son."

The cold from the ground leaches into my wool trousers, as the cold pebbles gnaw patterns into my skin. I wait for his blow but it doesn't come. All that comes is a frightened, bewildered voice.

"Professor Snape?"

My knees stay glued to the earth, but I swivel at my waist to regard her. Hermione's eyes are no longer dull. She is awake, vibrant, afraid but angry. The Dark Lord places a fatherly hand on my shoulder.

"You have done well, my son. It is only a matter of time before their forces are defeated entirely."

He has always been such a clever, clever man. Hermione takes a step forward, seething with righteous anger. Her voice isn't frightened anymore. It's brimming with rage. Overflowing with disgust.

"How could you?"

"Hermione…"

"You bastard! You…You…I trusted you"  
He looks over my shoulder, his smile a rictus of deadly glee. Hermione doesn't take her eyes off me. Fury is radiating from her in waves. Good. Anger is an emotion of battle and she can use it to her advantage. Even so, I almost choke on my words.

"Leave us, Mud blood. Go say your last goodbyes."

She advances on me in a potent fury, her eyes wide and hard.

"Betrayer! How could you?"

She reaches for her wand, and finds it missing. Damn her for not sleeping with it clutched in her soft, tapered fingers. I can feel my anger rising as well. I wheel on her.

"Haven't you sense enough to sleep with you wand at the ready? Have you no idea of the import of this battle?"

I whip my wand from my breast and aim it at her. She'd like to stand her ground and bring me to my knees. But her wand lies elsewhere, as do her chances for survival. I whisper a prayer of thanks for her practical nature as she runs for the castle, gravel flying in her wake.

"Avada Ka…"

I whirl mid-curse and level my wand at the Dark Lord. The rest of my words never come. I crumple to the ground in agony as the Cruciatus slices through my nerves. My wand falls from my hand and rolls a few paces from me. It might as well be a mile.

"They'll see to her in the castle, you know. You could have made this easier on yourself, Severus."

The potion coursing through my veins lends me strength, but it will not last indefinitely. Where is Potter? In the back of my mind I entertain the thought that he is already here, waiting for the right moment to strike, but the acid bite of the Cruciatus makes my eyes squeeze shut involuntarily.

"Don't be so sure. She's a damn sight more…"

My voice dies as my throat clenches shut with unimagined violence. I feel as though I've been flayed alive, with salt poured over every wound. I try to focus, my thoughts careening along the path Hermione has fled down. Wandless, in her nightclothes, the bare soles of her feet.

"Crucio!"

Fire tears through my synapses like rusty hooks. My knees collapse, and I spit up blood as a rib shatters against the hard ground. Damn Potter! Feckless boy, crumpling under the weight of all the hopes we've pinned upon you. My eyes flicker open, and I fight to see out of the glazed portals. The battle still rages. Atop parapets and at the great doorway they fight on. I wish I could join them, but I can feel the life slipping from me. I can't tell if the curses have stopped, but the pain fails to register as the world around me dulls and grows indistinct. I can hear gravel crunching by my ear, and the Dark Lord's features swim before my eyes. He cradles my head almost gently in his hands, and whispers down to me.

"You don't deserve to die by my wand, Severus."

The painful constriction in my throat eases, and I find my voice.

"No, My Lord?

"Never fear. I'll still see to you myself.

His hands slide in opposite directions, the left cupping my jaw, the right brushing the hair off my forehead. In that last breath, before he snaps his hands, and thus my neck, my thoughts clear and run blissfully free of the cold winter garden. I remember kissing Hermione's soft lips, loosing myself in her, and the way she wrapped her fingers about my wrist and asked me to stay. I remember that she loved me. I see a flash of green, a blur of motion, and then my world goes black. 


	20. Backfire

It hurts to wake. An odd, burning sensation tightens the muscles in my neck, and I'm fairly certain at least two of my ribs are broken. Bit of a scrape on my forehead. My knees hurt. All of this is to be expected. What is unexpected is that I am alive. What is foremost in my mind is that I have no idea if she is.

She was wandless. Barefoot. Clad in a nightgown. Running from the image of me pressing my lips to the hem of the Dark Lord's robe like a man without any pride left. Like a dog. I have to find her.

Against the protestations of the mediwitch who is trying to heal me, against the protestations of my aching body, I struggle to my feet. The room is cramped with the wounded. I trip over an outstretched hand, barely keep my feet under me, don't stay long enough to bear the brunt of their curses. I pitch out of the room and down the hall.

I have no idea where I'm running. I'm not quite in my right mind. I just need to see her. Need to know she's safe. That she has found her wand, and her shoes and she's whole and in one piece. The halls are jammed with jittery students and staff alike. It's obvious we've triumphed, but that means so very little. Victors take casualties, too. And I don't see her anywhere.

I bark invectives at students unlucky enough to stunt my progress. I shove collogues bodily out of my way. My vision starts to swim. I'm not well enough to be dashing headlong through corridors thick with humanity. I should sit down. But I need to find her. Instead, I collide with Albus. He grips me with a startling ferocity and I wince as it compresses my ribs. There are tears in his eyes.

"Severus!"

My head starts to spin. I feel a ripple of unhealthy laughter bubble up my throat.

"I'm not dead, you mad bastard."

He says something in return, but the blood rushing in my ears drowns him out. I grasp his lapel, half to demand his attention, half to keep myself upright.

"Where is she?"

I'm trying to make out what he's saying, figure out which direction is up, interpret the meaning of his gestures.

"She didn't have her wand, Albus…"

My vision goes black at the edges and I can feel my knees start to buckle when I'm buoyed by the sight of a bushy-haired girl, a robe casually draped over her nightdress. Her feet are still bare. I want to weep with relief, but can't spare the energy. Instead I make an awkward lunge in her direction. I don't get very far. Albus has me by the forearms, and is holding me back.

"Let me go, you daft old bat!"

"Severus," he pleads, "let me speak with her first."

I can't make sense of his madness, but I find myself too weak to break free from his grasp. Instead, I shout her name. She whirls around to face me, and in a moment she's rushing down the hall towards us. She pulls up short just before Albus and me. I marshal one last effort and thrust his hands roughly from me. I take a shaky step towards her, and lay my hand aside her face.

"Hermione."

Her face goes white, and her mouth falls open. I can hear Albus blathering at her over my shoulder, but she's transfixed by my touch. When she looks up at me there is a strange light in her eyes.

"Have you gone mad?"

My voice is strained, and comes out as a whisper, but I smile at her. "Perhaps a little."

She shudders and raises her hand to mine. She pries it off her face and thrusts it back at me.

"Get your bloody hands off me, you traitor."

I slump backwards, and find myself grateful that Albus is merely a step away. He steadies my frame as my thoughts continue to reel. His voice is calm & clear as usual, but there's a dark edge to it when he speaks.

"Hermione, we need to talk."

She doesn't take her steely gaze off me as she speaks.

"We most certainly do, Headmaster. But first, I think it's imperative that we get Professor Snape in a full Body Bind. I can give testimony that I saw him colluding with Voldemort at the outset of the battle. "

My mouth goes dry. Dryer.

"My dear, I don't think you have quite the whole picture."

Oh.

Yes.

I remember.

I stare down into her uncomprehending eyes. I remember when they looked at me with love. I remember when I stole than love from her, thinking it a kindness. I find myself quite unsurprised that I have, yet again, managed to bollocks things up. Well done, Severus. Well done.


	21. A Late Night Chat Redux

Albus sits behind his desk, Hermione across from him. I can't get close to her without wanting to wrap my arms around her, so I skulk around the back of his office. Better to look a git than a fool.

"What's the last thing you remember, Hermione?" he asks in that gentle, grandfatherly tone he calls up so easily. It makes my skin crawl, to think how smoothly he slips back and forth between roles. Even so (and I hate to admit it), I am glad to have him there, mediating. The thought of being alone with her is…unsettling.

"I believe an Imperius Curse was placed on me, Headmaster. I came to consciousness in the rose garden, and saw him," she gestures at me over her shoulder, not sparing me a glance, "performing obeisance to Voldemort. The Dark Lord was praising him for his service."

Albus flicks his gaze at me, just in time to watch me help myself to a dram of his firewhiskey. He thinks better of soliciting my participation in the conversation.

"Does it not seem odd to you, Hermione, that you were brought to that exact location at that exact time?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but cuts herself off before any words issue forth. I can almost see her thoughts ticking away, trying to make sense of things. It's the same look she'd get when we were working on our potion. When her hair would slip forward onto the surface of simmering brew, and I would gather it up in my hands, and tie it back at the nape of her neck.

Albus takes advantage of her silence and continues his query. "What's the last thing you remember before you encountered Severus in the garden?"

"There was an attempt on my life."

Funny thing, obliviation. Tricky, very tricky. Easy to go too far. Easy to take too much.

He sighs before he continues. (Soft-hearted now, old man?) "That was several months ago, Hermione."

"That's impossible. I remember it like it was yesterday."

She seems to have forgotten my presence. All her attention is trained on the man in front of her. I roll the firewhiskey in my mouth, and swallow the burn. The war is over. I'll be able to retire now. Pursue alcoholism with gusto.

He's staring at me again. I don't know what he expects me to say, so I drink more. He doesn't take his eyes off me as he speaks.

"You've been living with Severus since the attempt on your life."

She remembers I'm in the room, now. The look on her face says she clearly doesn't believe him. I don't want to flinch under her gaze, so I take another sip. He continues to fill up the silence.

"He has been your constant protector, and your companion. A potion you created and perfected together contributed greatly to our victory tonight."

I can see a chink open in her skeptical armor. It makes me anxious.

"I have no memory…"

I don't care for her confused expression. It makes me feel guilty. I wish she'd find somewhere else to rest her bewildered eyes.

He places a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Hermione, perhaps you should rest now. We can all continue this discussion tomorrow when we've had a chance…"

I don't know whether it's my frayed nerves or the alcohol, but I interrupt him more harshly than intended. "She has a right to know, Albus! Quit leading her apace and…" The feeling of deja vu is overwhelming.

I silence myself by taking a large swallow from my glass. I try not to cough as the pungent whiskey irritates my throat. I want to set it roughly on the table and be on my way.

She's squinting at me now, trying to work out the missing pieces. Trying to discern why I'm so wrong-footed. "What aren't you telling me, Headmaster?"

"You entered into a marriage of convenience with Severus six months ago."

She is startled, but has the decency not to give way into horror. Always so decent. So maddeningly good.

"A marriage of convenience?"

I set down my glass. Pick it back up. She just keeps staring at me. I clear my throat. "We were sending a message to the Death Eaters who intended you harm: that I would be by your side, protecting you. It was, for the most part, very effective." Not a lie. Perhaps not all the truth, but surely not a lie. Good enough.

She turns back to Albus, clearly ill at ease. She's a smart girl. She knows something's wrong. "None of this explains my missing memories, Headmaster."

Perhaps I spoke too quickly. Too gruffly. I just can't stand being in the same room with her like this. It feels, hideously, like I've killed the woman I loved.

And yet there she is, still questioning, still looking for the truth. Truth I am afraid she may no longer want. "Me," I tell her, throat dry. "That was me."

She continues her disconcerting stare, waiting for an answer. "I fully expected to die tonight, Miss Granger. I…didn't wish for you to mourn me."

She raises an eyebrow. Did she learn that from me? Has she kept little pieces of me inside her after all? "We'd become…close?"

Surely, I should acquiesce and leave it at that. Nothing wrong with two flatmates becoming close. Perhaps we could even be friends, one day. Better to leave it like this. There's no coming back from the mess I've made of things. But friends. Perhaps we could be friends.

"After a fashion. I didn't wish for you to feel you were responsible for my death. To feel guilty that the potion we'd crafted wasn't up to snuff."

"And yet here you are. Very much alive."

"After a fashion."

She is so quiet as she just keeps looking at me. The silence stretches on so long I can hardly bear it. "I hadn't intended to take so much from you, Miss Granger. I…miscalculated."

I exhale as she turns her scrutiny from me. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath.

"So. How do we restore my memories?" she asks Albus.

"That's…complicated, Hermione."

"It's out of the question! You know full well the damage caused by breaking a memory charm, Albus."

"Perhaps a gentler method may yield results, Severus, if she's willing…"

"Gentle? Do I need remind you of the state Bertha Jorkins was reduced to when…"

Hermione's raised voice cuts through our argument. "I've lost my memory, gentlemen, not gone deaf and dumb! And honestly, I don't see why either of you believes you have a say in…"

"Quite right, Miss Granger. I don't have a say in what you do. I don't think I ever have. But trust me when I say that there is nothing so important in your memories of the last six months that would warrant the harm you risk in trying to recover them."

"What makes you so sure?"

"The war is over. You are safe. Move on, Miss Granger. I know I intend to."

One final slug of firewhiskey, and I turn on my heel. My life has been one monumental mistake after another. But this time there is at least a silver lining. I performed my duty. She is safe. She is young. In a matter of days she'll have forgotten to care that she's forgotten anything at all. She'll move on. She'll be brilliant. She'll have a wonderful life. And I'll continue to love her till the day I die. Simple, really.

But that meddlesome old bastard never could leave well enough alone. After all he owes me, he betrays me again, in a quiet whisper.

"Forgive Severus' brusqueness, my dear. He loves you very deeply."

I stumble to a halt at the door. Turn. Her eyes pin me to the wall like a pin through my heart.

"Is this true?"

My tongue feels swollen in my mouth. I'm parched, and I'm exhausted, and I just want this night to be over. But still I can't bring myself to lie to her again. "It is."

She doesn't laugh, as much as make a startled little noise that sounds like laughter. Or perhaps I just can't bear the thought of her laughing at me. I don't know what I know anymore.

Albus lays a hand on her shoulder, as if he fears she needs steadying. She doesn't. I feel as if I might. He leans in close to her, but I can still hear his voice across the room. "Hermione, I have every reason to believe you share his feelings."

Her cheeks color, and I think (though I can't be sure) I see a tear welling in the corner of her eye. They both stare at me, silent as the grave. Under the weight of her troubled gaze, I slink backwards out of the room.


End file.
